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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29404602">Interlude</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/prozac/pseuds/prozac'>prozac</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cravity (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous Relationships, Coming of Age, Depression, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slice of Life, Summer, Unreliable Narrator, Weed... So Much Weed, but what needs fixing is just Jungmo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:20:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>27,636</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29404602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/prozac/pseuds/prozac</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jungmo goes home for the summer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kang Minhee &amp; Koo Jungmo, Kang Minhee/Koo Jungmo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Window</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a deeply self-indulgent, sorta personal fic, and contains quite a few triggering themes throughout the whole story. </p><p>- Drug Usage/Underage Drug Usage: There is copius amounts of weed smoking by both main characters, some of it described in detail. The youngest character is 18.<br/>- Alcohol/Drug Dependence: There are discussions of past alcohol abuse/dependence; the main character uses weed to cope with negative emotions.<br/>- Depression: The main character has undiagnosed depression. The story contains a long and heavily described depressive episode that includes some passive suicidality.<br/>- Shitty Parents: shitty parents. Nothing graphic- just bad parenting. All parents are OCs.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jungmo first sees him through the kitchen window- it is a brief moment, suspended in a golden afternoon. </p>
<p>He is tall, his arms are wrapped around a large cardboard box. </p>
<p>He stops for a moment in a spot of light. He has bottle blonde hair that curls around his ears.  </p>
<p>Jungmo pauses, elbow deep in dish soap. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s packing his bong when his mom <i>FaceTimes<i> him. </i></i></p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Shit.” He runs into another room and picks up the call.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Hello!” his mom chirps. Jungmo thinks she looks noticeably older- she has more grey hair, her wrinkles are deeper. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Ah, hey Mom.” He hops on to the kitchen counter. “Is everything okay?” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Oh, yes. I didn’t mean to alarm you.” she smiles. “Your father says hello.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Alright.” Jungmo says. His father does not come into frame. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Is the house fine?” she asks, still smiling. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I’ve only been here three days.” Jungmo says. “Yes. It’s fine.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Oh, Jungmo.” her smile slips. “I was just calling to check in.” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Okay,” Jungmo says. “That’s fine.” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Are <i>you</i> okay?” she pauses. Jungmo does not say anything. “I wanted to meet you when you came, but the plane tickets, and… oh, and your father, you know how he is.” she shrugs.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yeah, of course.” Jungmo smiles, somehow. “I understand.” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Good, I knew you would.” she sighs. Jungmo would like to smoke his weed. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I’m gonna keep watching my show.” he says.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“What are you watching?”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“You wouldn’t know it.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Oh.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yeah.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Well… don’t have too much fun.” her smile is just a ghost now. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Okay.” he says. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I love you.” she says.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Jungmo is not cruel, as much as he wishes he could be.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I love you too,” he says, and hangs up.  </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He can barely sleep the first few nights.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>The blankets are comfortable, the pillow is expensive and tempurpedic. He didn’t bring it with him to college, though, and he’s slept better on the RA-issue pillows that are nothing but air. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Jungmo lays in the bed where he slept as a teenager and does not fall asleep. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He spends Tuesday poised in front of his laptop, fingers itching.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He wants to write- there is nothing better for when he feels swallowed whole by emotions. When he was in high school he wrote dozens of stories and poems, all bruised into his laptop in fits of fury or sadness. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>His fingers are itching but he cannot write. He stares at the white screen and cannot grasp a first word or a first sentence. There is nothing to say, no matter how much his anger coalesces. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>It is evening when he shuts his laptop. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He microwaves a frozen burrito and watches the sun set through the kitchen window. The colors have always been more striking in the summer, when Jungmo had been able to spend his evenings kicking a soccer ball around the front yard instead of doing homework indoors. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Jungmo doesn’t come home very often. There is not much to come back to- just a pretty sunset and a pockmarked sidewalk.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>The microwave beeps. Jungmo plates his burrito and considers, for a moment, eating at the gilded dining table.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He eats in front of his laptop instead, fingers itching. He types a few half-hearted sentences about <i>fathers</i> and <i>dinner</i> and an <i>empty driveway</i> before deciding that it just makes him angrier.  </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>At least anger tires him out, puts him to bed on his stupid, stupid pillow. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Wonjin:</b> miss you<br/>
<b>Wonjin:</b> summer is weird w/o u </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Jungmo:</b> you okay?</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Wonjin:</b> yes. asshole. i just miss u</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Jungmo:</b> thank you</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Wonjin:</b> jfc. hows ur mom</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Jungmo:</b> HAHAHA<br/>
<b>Jungmo:</b> she left the key under the mat they went to ITALY</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Wonjin:</b> oh jesus christ<br/>
<b>Wonjin:</b> that checks out unfortunately<br/>
<b>Wonjin:</b> do u wanna call?</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Jungmo:</b> uhhh not right now. at some point, though</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Wonjin:</b> that’s fine<br/>
<b>Wonjin:</b> stay safe jungmo</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Jungmo:</b> I hope you can hear my sigh</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Wonjin:</b> i can, don’t worry ^.^</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Jungmo thinks about Wonjin’s text when he locks himself in the bathroom and turns off the light. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>Stay safe, Jungmo.</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>God, he wants to tear out his hair- instead, in the dark, he folds his body into the empty bathtub. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>The expectation that he will fall apart is not a farfetched one. He often feels like he is about to break.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He spends a whole day writing, fingers flying over the laptop keys. His chest hurts something overwhelming and he tries to be vicious, an attempt to echo the hurt he feels. When he reads it back to himself, though, it just seems sad. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He frowns and closes his laptop. He does not need the sadness. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Something drags Jungmo outdoors, away from his laptop and frozen meals. Perhaps it’s pure animal instinct, telling him he’s been indoors too long. Perhaps he’s Vitamin C deficient- either way, he finds himself sprawled on the front lawn one afternoon, unaware of making the choice to go outside or to lay down. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Pleasantly warm, he wonders if he has so little shame that he’ll fall asleep on the lawn in full view of the neighbors’ windows.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He decides he will. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Jungmo wakes up a bit later to the setting sun. He blinks his eyes open- sees orange, pink, the barest dust of purple. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>There are eyes on him, too. He can feel it. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He sits up quickly, pushes aside any remnants of sleep, looks around. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>On his neighbors’ front porch sits the guy with bottle blonde hair. He is bouncing one of his legs up and down. Jungmo wonders if he has grass in his hair.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Are you watching me?” Jungmo calls, raising his arm to shield his eyes from the setting sun. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>The guy’s leg stills. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Well?” Jungmo says, smiling a little. The guy stands up. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I- no.” He says, wiping his hands on his pants. “I mean, yes, but I was worried you were dead.” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Ha!” Jungmo says. “Well, I’m not.” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I’m glad.” The guy says stiffly. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He’s the type of boy Jungmo would flirt with in college, lanky and awkward and sorta beautiful, probably easily flustered. Jungmo would see him in the communal kitchen and never leave him alone. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>At home, though, Jungmo does not find any easy rhythms- not with boys, not with anything. He looks at the guy from his seat in the grass and doesn’t really have anything to say. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I’m Minhee, by the way.”  </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>Minhee.</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Hello, Minhee.” Jungmo says, and Minhee just nods before promptly walking back into his own house and slamming the front door behind him. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Huh.” Jungmo says into the sky. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>The sun is a smear on the horizon. Jungmo goes back into his parent’s home and heats up some boxed tomato soup.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>One morning he wakes up, smokes a bowl immediately, and spends an hour looking at the flaking ceiling of his childhood bedroom. He plays music from his phone even though it’s a little canned and it doesn’t shake through his body like speakers do, or mute his thoughts like earbuds do. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He follows that up by sitting in front of his laptop and pulling together some sentences that feel anemic. Maybe there are only so many times he can write about being angry at his father, angry at his mother, angry at himself. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Maybe he just isn’t that angry right now. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He lays back down in his childhood bed and feels… content. He’s comfortably high, settled into his skin like a well-worn glove. He’s afraid to breathe too hard- he’s afraid that the comfort will fly out from the space between his open lips and all that weed will have been for nothing.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He stays like this, though. He stays under the covers, he stays content. He falls asleep at noon and does not dream. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Jungmo was not a happy teenager.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>There are traces of it now, in his bedroom- in the notch in his desk from where a pencil was jammed into the wood, in the loose floorboards under his bed that now hide nothing. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><i>“We’ve gotten word from the school,”</i> his mother had said, wringing her hands, <i>“that some of your friends are worried about you.”</i></i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He is not exactly a happy adult, either. He wakes up with a sense of melancholy and usually falls asleep the same way, a little bit uneasy, a little bit restless. He finishes his schoolwork on time and stays mostly sober and has a few close friends, but he is not <i>happy</i>.  </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Happiness has always been reserved for <i>others</i>- for Wonjin, who smiles honestly and easily; for his father and his father’s friends around the dining table, drinks in hand; for strangers. For television and movies and people who are not Jungmo, who do not live in his body, who feel <i>more</i> than he feels.   </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><i>“I was cleaning your room,”</i> his mother had said, staring at the ground, <i>“I looked under your bed.</i></i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He has outgrown the violent sadness of adolescence, sure, but he doesn’t know if he’s ever been happy. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Maybe that’s why he didn’t go to Wonjin's this summer. He doesn’t belong there- he belongs here, sequestered in his childhood bedroom, feeling sorry for himself. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>The doorbell rings.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Jungmo has spent three weeks at home, completely alone and undisturbed, when the <i>doorbell rings</i>. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>For one horrible moment he is certain that his parents have come home two months early. This would be especially bad- his bong is on the coffee table in the living room and the entire first floor reeks. He’s also high, like, right now.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He remembers that his parents have keys (he takes a deep, relieved breath). </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>The doorbell rings again. Jungmo stands up and goes to look through the peephole. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>It’s the neighbor, Minhee. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Jungmo opens the door. Minhee wears a too-big t-shirt, athletic pants, and an unreadable expression. His brow is furrowed.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Hello.” Jungmo says. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“You’re smoking weed?” Minhee asks. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Oh.” Jungmo says. “I mean. Maybe.” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Minhee raises his eyebrows. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I can smell it from my bedroom.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Huh.” Jungmo says, and makes a mental note to close the kitchen window. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Minhee stands there on the porch with his brow furrowed. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Jungmo stands inside the doorway, blurry from the high.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Is there something you need?” Jungmo asks. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“No.” Minhee says. He’s looking past Jungmo and into his house. What catches his eye? Is it the ornate mirror gifted by his fathers’ business partner? Is it the color of the Entryway, dark blue and oppressive? </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Okay…” Jungmo says, feeling a little bit uncomfortable. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Minhee <i>sighs,</i> big and dramatic and very unlike a stranger. The absurdity almost makes Jungmo laugh.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“What’s your name?” he asks. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Jungmo.” he says. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Minhee’s brow relaxes. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Cool.” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Cool?” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yeah.” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Jungmo wonders why Minhee is on his front porch. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Is that… all?” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Minhee’s brow re-furrows. Jungmo feels like he’s lost. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yeah.” Minhee says. “Sorry for interrupting.” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Jungmo watches him turn around and walk back to his own property with something vague in his chest. Amusement, maybe. Curiosity. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He can hear the front door slam. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Wonjin:</b> we miss u &lt;3<br/>
<b>Wonjin:</b> [IMG 405]<br/>
<b>Wonjin:</b> hope you’re alright</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Hyeongjun:</b> IF UR STAYING INSIDE ALL DAY SMOKING WEED ALONE I AM GOING TO KILL YOU KOO JUNGMO I AM GOING TO KILL YOU<br/>
<b>Hyeongjun:</b> YOU COULD BE HANGING OUT WITH US BUT INSTEAD YOU ARE IN SELF IMPOSED EXILE! REMEMBER THAT!!</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Jungmo:</b> self imposed exile…….</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Hyeongjun:</b> text wonjin back :(<br/>
<b>Hyeongjun:</b> asshole :/</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Jungmo:</b> you guys look good </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i><b>Wonjin:</b> AWWWWWWWW<br/>
<b>Wonjin:</b> thank you jungmo i can’t wait to see u in the fall :D</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>☼</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i></i>The problem is-</i> Jungmo writes, the problem is that I hate my friends.
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He deletes it. It’s not true. There is no use lying, even if it justifies the tension in his chest.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i></i>The problem is-</i> Jungmo writes slower, the problem is that I feel distant from my friends.
  
</p>
<p>
  <i><i></i>The problem is-</i> Jungmo writes, because that’s not the whole truth, the problem is that I feel distant from everyone in the world.
</p>
<p>That’s as close as he can get.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s awake in the early morning hours.</p>
<p>He always had a tendency to do that- now, though, there’s a new freedom. He keeps the lamp in his bedroom on and plays music from his laptop speakers. There is no one to wake up, no consequences to suffer through. Through the window he can see that someone is awake in his neighbors’ house. At least, a light is on in a second floor window. </p>
<p>Jungmo wonders if it’s Minhee.</p>
<p>Jungmo stops himself there. He’s tired, all of a sudden. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, mom.” </p>
<p>She doesn’t FaceTime him this time, thank goodness. It’s simple to pick up a phone call- no need to check the surroundings for any telltale weed paraphernalia. </p>
<p>“What have you been up to, my love?” she asks.</p>
<p>He can hear her smile through the phone. He does not… rage. He does not smile, either. </p>
<p>“I’ve been writing a little,” he says. It feels like a lie even though it’s not. </p>
<p>“That’s wonderful!” she says. “Any of your assignments, maybe?”</p>
<p>She’s teasing him. </p>
<p>He grits his teeth. </p>
<p>“Not yet.”</p>
<p>“Let me tell you about Rome-” she starts, and maybe Jungmo <i>is</i> cruel, because he interrupts her. </p>
<p>“You have new neighbors.” he says, looking out the bedroom window. </p>
<p>“Oh...” she starts, but takes it in her stride. That’s his mother- peacemaking to a fault, a little too passive. “The Kangs? Did you meet them?”</p>
<p>“I met this kid.” Jungmo pauses. “Minhee.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, he’s so sweet. Just got his high school diploma.” his mother coos. “They moved here a couple of months ago. Oh, I’m so glad you’re talking to him.”</p>
<p>“He lives with his parents?” he asks despite himself.</p>
<p>“Mhm. Doctors, both of them. Impressive people.” </p>
<p>“Cool.” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>“I’m glad you haven’t just…” she sighs. “Been alone for a month.” </p>
<p>“Oh,” he says. </p>
<p>There is silence on the line. He wonders-</p>
<p>“I’m gonna go order some food.” he says instead, and she laughs.</p>
<p>“Alright, I love you.” she sighs. “I miss you.”</p>
<p>He is glad he cannot see her face- like this, he can pretend she’s lying.</p>
<p>“Have fun in Rome, mom.” he says, and hangs up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He closes the kitchen window before he goes to sleep that night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Doorway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content Warning: this chapter contains brief suicidality.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jungmo finds himself standing on a porch that isn’t his. </p>
<p>Maybe it was his mother’s comment- more likely it was Hyeongjun’s angry text.</p>
<p><i>More likely you’re just lonely.</i> the truth whispers in his ear, but that is something he will not yet write. </p>
<p>He only vaguely remembers the former occupants of the house. They were an elderly couple, he thinks, with two grown children who lived across the country. He remembers an unkempt lawn, mostly because after bad days at work it was his father’s favorite topic of complaint. He remembers vividly, though, the little wire poodle figurine that sat next to the door. It was rusted from rain- just another thing the owners had allowed to go under.</p>
<p>Now the lawn is trimmed, courtesy of the Kang-employed gardeners that wake Jungmo up every Monday.</p>
<p>The poodle is gone, too. Obviously. Jungmo thinks there is a dark spot on the porch where it used to block the sun. </p>
<p>He knocks on the door. </p>
<p>It opens soundlessly moments later.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Minhee says, and his eyebrows betray his surprise. Jungmo shifts his weight from foot to foot and puts his hands into his pockets. The sun is hot overhead. He has not changed out of his pajama pants for this errand, and only now is he feeling a little bit embarrassed about it.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Jungmo says, feeling like he has something to prove. “Did you wanna smoke with me?”</p>
<p>Minhee has dimples when he smiles. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Minhee takes off his shoes at the front door and places them against the wall. </p>
<p>“I like your house.” he says, but he’s looking at Jungmo.  </p>
<p>“Huh.” Jungmo says, like he does when he has nothing good to say. </p>
<p>“But I think this table is ugly.” Minhee says when they pass through the dining room. </p>
<p>Jungmo looks at him. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” Minhee says, and he actually seems like it. “Was that too much?”</p>
<p>“No.” Jungmo assures him. “You’re right. It’s ugly. You okay with smoking in front of the T.V?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Minhee says, and follows him into the living room. </p>
<p>Jungmo doesn’t ever know what the hell he’s doing, but he <i>really</i> doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing right now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can pack it, if you want.” Minhee says, motioning to the bong. “You don’t have to keep doing it.”</p>
<p>Jungmo shrugs and hands it to him. </p>
<p>Minhee makes gentle movements always- when he pinches the weed between his fingers, when he flicks the lighter, when they listen to music, when they scroll through Netflix, when he finally relaxes into the couch next to Jungmo. </p>
<p>He’s not very talkative. They spend most of their time together inhaling weed and wordlessly playing music from their phones.</p>
<p>He leaves before the sun sets. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>Jungmo:</b> smoked weed with my new neighbor today because i am very social and not a loser. so there  </p>
<p><b>Hyeongjun:</b> glad ur not isolating &lt;3</p>
<p><b>Jungmo:</b> i can’t be mean to you if you won’t be mean back….</p>
<p><b>Hyeongjun:</b> &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks for inviting me, by the way.” Minhee says the next time he comes over. </p>
<p>“You don’t have to thank me.” Jungmo shrugs. </p>
<p>“I do.” Minhee says. “I’ve been alone all summer.”</p>
<p>Jungmo almost smiles at him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Minhee lays on the couch in Jungmo’s living room, socked feet propped up on one of the armrests. Jungmo sits on the carpet.</p>
<p>He would mind, except- he doesn’t. Minhee looks more comfortable on the couch than Jungmo has ever felt, so he doesn’t mind. </p>
<p>“You done packing the bowl?” Minhee asks, scrolling through what looks like Instagram, and Jungmo looks away from him and back at the coffee table.</p>
<p>“Almost,” he says. “You’re demanding.” </p>
<p>Minhee puts his phone down. </p>
<p>“Demanding?” he’s trying to sound serious, but there’s a tilt to his mouth, a smile flickering across his face. “Who keeps knocking on my door for company?” </p>
<p>“This is just the third time.” Jungmo says, focusing his attention on packing the weed with the butt of his lighter. </p>
<p>“Oh please, Minhee,” Minhee says in a tone that’s clearly mocking.  “I’m <i>so lonely</i> and <i>uncool</i>-“</p>
<p>“Shut up.” Jungmo says simply. The bong is ready. “So how long did you watch me sleep that one time?” </p>
<p>Minhee looks at Jungmo sharply. </p>
<p>“Is the bowl packed?” he says in response, and Jungmo hands it to him. </p>
<p>“You don’t have to say yes when I invite you.” Jungmo adds. “I’m not exactly opposed to smoking alone.” </p>
<p>“I didn’t say that I didn’t want to smoke with you.” Minhee says, and now he’s scowling. </p>
<p>“Light it up, then.” Jungmo says. “Asshole.” </p>
<p>Minhee does. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p><i>Emotions like the wind and they show on his face all the same.</i> Jungmo writes-</p>
<p>after one bowl too many, after the sun has long since set. </p>
<p>
  <i>I do not like this feeling, either. It is a weak one.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s your major?” </p>
<p>“English.” </p>
<p>“I see.” </p>
<p>“Do you know what you’re gonna major in?” </p>
<p>“Nope.” Minhee says, popping the p. </p>
<p>“That’s alright.” Jungmo blows out smoke. “Fuck college.” </p>
<p>He worries, for a moment, that he went too far- he doesn’t know Minhee at all, really, not his values or his morals or those of his parents. </p>
<p>“Fuck college.” Minhee smiles. “The joint?” </p>
<p>Jungmo does not notice the length of Minhee’s fingers or the blue vein running along the inside of his wrist when he hands him the joint. </p>
<p>Minhee always takes big hits. The joint audibly crackles with it, burns strong and sends tendrils of smoke through the living room. </p>
<p>Jungmo follows the smoke with his eyes until it seems to settle on his father’s favorite armchair, content. </p>
<p>“Dude,” Minhee says. “How high are you?”</p>
<p>Jungmo looks at him, at his red eyes and his smile that shows <i>teeth</i>.</p>
<p>“How high are <i>you</i>?”</p>
<p>Minhee laughs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>Wonjin</b>: how are you?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This song…” Minhee sighs. </p>
<p>“Good, huh?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“I’m always right about this stuff.”</p>
<p>“You’re pretty good.”</p>
<p>“My friends call me the ‘playlist genius.’”</p>
<p>“No, they don’t.” Minhee laughs. </p>
<p>“No, they don’t.” Jungmo agrees.</p>
<p>Minhee looks at him from the couch.</p>
<p>Jungmo looks away. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>Wonjin</b>: I know ur alive bc we share locations and you move around ur house. Text me back. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How long have you been smoking?” Minhee asks before lighting the bowl. His socks are purple today.</p>
<p>“God.” Jungmo says. The bong gurgles. </p>
<p>Minhee exhales into the room. </p>
<p>“Is that… too personal?” </p>
<p>“No.” Jungmo says, and makes grabby hands for the bong. “Just let me think.”</p>
<p>He torches the bowl. </p>
<p>“I only really started in college. I mean, once or twice in high school, but I wasn’t looking for a mellow time in high school.”</p>
<p>“What were you looking for?”</p>
<p>“You know, when I first invited you over, you didn’t talk this much.” </p>
<p>“Is that you telling me to shut up?” Minhee doesn’t look offended- he’s smiling, actually. Jungmo’s stomach turns. </p>
<p>“Good instincts.” Jungmo quips, and puts another nug in the grinder.</p>
<p>It <i>really</i> goes back to this- the need to always feel different from himself, the need to leave this plane of reality. His first choice had been to get drunk. He had been 14 years old with a 750 ml bottle of vodka hidden under his floorboards. </p>
<p>He is not pretty with alcohol in his system. He’s been a messy, disgusting drunk since he first got his hands on it. So he switched to weed. Weed doesn’t give blackouts- it’s easier for him to control. It’s still a vice, though. Still another means of unreality. </p>
<p>He’s not going to get into that with Minhee, though- or anyone. He’s a college junior, for goodness sakes. High school is ancient history. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A month of summer passes and he decides to write something for University. It’s not even close to his best work but it’s enough pages, enough paragraphs. </p>
<p>It’s hollow and academic, just like everything he writes for school. Jungmo hates it. He closes the tab as soon as he finishes the conclusion. </p>
<p>He goes to sleep early, feeling completely drained. He wakes up before the sun rises. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo knocks on Minhee’s front door one afternoon and it’s not Minhee who answers. </p>
<p>“Hello.” the woman says. She’s smiling, but there’s a crease between her eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Jungmo turns back around. </p>
<p>“No, it’s ok.” she says. “You’re Marie’s son, right?”</p>
<p>“Uh...yeah.” says Jungmo. That’s rarely ever his qualifier- he doesn’t have leftover high school friends, hometown friends. They don’t know him from his mother. They know him from his major, his forced smile.</p>
<p>“I’m Minhee’s mother. You can come in, if you want- he’s upstairs.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Doctor Kang.”</p>
<p>She smiles like he’s charmed her.  </p>
<p>“Of course- Jungmo, is it?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” he gives her his best polite grin in response.</p>
<p>The Kang’s house is cozier then his own- the walls are cream colored, a woven tapestry hangs on the wall next to the stairs. It depicts a lion in Medieval European fashion- a bit grotesque, sporting ivory fangs. He looks at it before ascending the stairs.</p>
<p>At the top of the flight he notices a family picture, framed and hanging on the wall. Jungmo looks at it for a moment. Minhee’s just a kid here, but most of his features are recognizable- even as a child he looks a little bothered. His mother is holding him in one arm and next to her is the man Jungmo can tell is Minhee’s father- they have the same height, the same slump in their shoulders.</p>
<p>“My Aunt took that.” a voice says behind him, and Jungmo jumps. “Oh, sorry.”</p>
<p>Minhee looks utterly exhausted. There are purple bags under his eyes and his skin is horribly pale. His hair, usually some semblance of wavy, is hanging limply over his forehead. </p>
<p>“Jesus.” Jungmo says. “What happened to you?”</p>
<p>Minhee scowls. It doesn’t pack a punch.</p>
<p>“That’s rude.” he says simply. He’s looking past Jungmo and at the family picture.</p>
<p>Downstairs, Minhee’s mother is making noise in the kitchen. Jungmo can’t help but look at Minhee again- his bottom lip tucked under his teeth, his oversized grey t-shirt, the curve of his throat. He is still looking at the family photo.</p>
<p>“So do you want to come over?” Jungmo asks, at least out of courtesy. He’s here now, he might as well ask. “No pressure or-”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Minhee interrupts, tearing his eyes away from the photo. He’s looking at Jungmo. “Please.” </p>
<p>“Um-” Jungmo frowns. </p>
<p>“Did you not just ask me?” Minhee crosses his arms over his chest. </p>
<p>“Yeah, well.” Jungmo says. “You seem sick.”</p>
<p>“I’m fine.” Minhee says. “I’d rather be at yours.”</p>
<p>“Alright.” Jungmo shrugs. “Let’s go then.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you have a cold or something?” </p>
<p>“No.” Minhee says.</p>
<p>“Ok, do you have the flu?”</p>
<p>“No.” Minhee says. “Did you run out of weed?”</p>
<p>“Asshole.” Jungmo says. “No, I didn’t.”</p>
<p>Minhee plops onto the couch. His socks aren’t matching- one is grey and ends under his ankle, one is blue and checkered and extends up into the leg of jeans. </p>
<p>“Then where is it?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Asshole.” Jungmo repeats, throwing his house keys onto the coffee table. “In my room. Give me a second.”</p>
<p>“Can I see your room?” Minhee asks. He cocks his head to one side. </p>
<p>“No.” Jungmo says. “I’ll be right back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks for the weed.” Minhee leans against the frame of Jungmo’s front door.</p>
<p>“You look better now.” Jungmo says. He’s high, body light and airy, so he’ll say it. There’s pink in Minhee’s cheeks, he’s pushed his hair away from his eyes.</p>
<p>“I feel better now.” Minhee smiles, tight lipped. </p>
<p>He does not leave.</p>
<p>Jungmo sees himself in Minhee’s eyes- in the physical reflection, but also in the emotion that curves his lips down now, into a small frown. </p>
<p>“You can always…” Jungmo does not take social risks very often. “You could always stay over, if you wanted. If you needed to.” </p>
<p>Minhee looks at Jungmo like he’s trying to see his bones. </p>
<p>Jungmo wonders if he’s shaking. </p>
<p>“I can’t tonight,” Minhee says finally. “But I’m gonna take you up on that eventually.”</p>
<p>He leaves. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p><i>I’m scared.</i> Jungmo types. <i>What am I afraid of?</i></p>
<p>His heart hurts in his chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wonjin FaceTimes him.</p>
<p>He picks it up. There’s only so long he can ignore someone without being eaten whole, and Wonjin is his best friend. Jungmo owes him a little more effort. </p>
<p>“So.” Wonjin says, his face impassive.</p>
<p>They have done this song and dance a few times. </p>
<p>“Hey, Wonjin.” Jungmo says. “I’m sorry for ignoring your texts.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Wonjin says. “Good.”</p>
<p>“I’m grateful that you checked up on me.” Jungmo tries. </p>
<p>“Yeah, I know.” Wonjin rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>“You’re a really good friend.” </p>
<p>“I am.” </p>
<p>“Thank you for always doing the dishes.” </p>
<p>“Hm.” Wonjin smiles just a little. “Enough groveling.”</p>
<p>“You sure?” </p>
<p>“I’m sure.” </p>
<p>“I <i>am</i> sorry.” </p>
<p>“I know.” Wonjin says. “But you’ll do it again.” </p>
<p>Jungmo has nothing to say to that. He sits on the living room couch, legs crossed underneath him, and waits for Wonjin to say more. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” Wonjin says. </p>
<p>“No, it’s true.” Jungmo says. “It’s fine. Why did you call, again?” </p>
<p>“I wanted to check in, see if you’ve devolved.” </p>
<p>“Ha! Well, I haven’t.” </p>
<p>“That’s good. Got any schoolwork done?” </p>
<p>“Barely any. You?” </p>
<p>“Nah. Me and Hyeongjun will do it at the last minute, probably.” </p>
<p>Jungmo smiles.</p>
<p>“At least you’re self aware.” </p>
<p>“Speaking of Hyeongjun-“ Wonjin continues, his voice crackling with static momentarily. </p>
<p>“One second, what’d you say?” Jungmo picks up his phone and moves to the dining room, searching for better reception. </p>
<p>“I said, speaking of Hyeongjun.”  </p>
<p>“Speaking of Hyeongjun.” </p>
<p>“He said you have a new friend? Which, fuck you, by the way, for telling him and not me.” </p>
<p>“A new friend.” Jungmo muses. He doesn’t want to sit at the dining room table so he sits on the wooden floor instead. “Yeah, he’s just a smoke buddy, though.” </p>
<p>“Are you sitting on the floor?” Wonjin raises his eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Is he nice?”</p>
<p>“He’s a little weird.”</p>
<p>“Good weird or bad weird?”</p>
<p>“Good?” Jungmo says, thinking. “It’s good. I like him well enough.”</p>
<p>“You do?” Wonjin sounds… a little surprised. It makes Jungmo look at the screen.</p>
<p>“Yeah, why?”</p>
<p>“You don’t like a lot of people.”</p>
<p>“That’s not true.”</p>
<p>“It is.” Wonjin says, shrugging. “You can argue, but it’s true.”</p>
<p>“Jeez.” Jungmo sighs. “Alright, then.”</p>
<p>“I love you, dude.” </p>
<p>“You leaving?”</p>
<p>“Hyeongjun made pasta.” Wonjin says. His smile grows. </p>
<p>“Well.” Jungmo rolls his shoulders back. “Enjoy, then.”</p>
<p>“Say you love me too.”</p>
<p>“I love you too, Wonjin.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you like your parents?” Minhee asks. </p>
<p>On the television, Gandalf fights a demonic monster. </p>
<p>“Jeez.” Jungmo sighs. “I’m not sure.” </p>
<p>“You’re not sure.” Minhee repeats. “Alright.” </p>
<p>“Well, do you like your parents?” Jungmo asks.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure.” Minhee scowls. </p>
<p>“Fine.” Jungmo says. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.” </p>
<p>Gandalf is yelling on television- Jungmo pauses the movie. </p>
<p>“Are you pissed off right now?” Minhee looks at him. </p>
<p>Jungmo looks back at him- </p>
<p>Wide eyes, parted mouth, hair sticking up in the back. He’s wearing a green shirt that looks soft. Jungmo does not have the willpower it would take to be <i>pissed off</i> at Minhee. </p>
<p>“No.” Jungmo says. “You just ask me so many questions.” </p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” Minhee says. “I didn’t know that made you uncomfortable.” </p>
<p>“It doesn’t.” Jungmo says. “It’s fine. We just don’t need to talk about our parents.” </p>
<p>“Got it.” Minhee says. </p>
<p>Jungmo starts the movie again.</p>
<p>He doesn’t watch the way the screen illuminates the angles of Minhee’s face. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo wakes up feeling like he’s thirteen again. </p>
<p>It’s mostly in his chest, a complete and total sadness that presses him into his mattress. </p>
<p>He looks out the window. The sky is cloudless. </p>
<p>“Wow.” he says to no one, and it echoes through his room. “I don’t want to be alive.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Table</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning: This chapter is basically a depressive episode. Parents in this fic are still shitty. You know yourself best, please don't read this if it'll trigger you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are no sunsets.</p>
<p>The sky remains bright and Jungmo’s eyes <i>hurt</i>, ache, even when he pulls the covers over his head. </p>
<p>There are no sunsets- time does not pass, hunger does not set in. </p>
<p>He curls into the fetal position under the blankets and tries to sync his breathing with his lethargic heartbeat.</p>
<p>There’s no place like home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One of Jungmo’s high school buddies was a basketball player. He wasn't very good, never got into varsity, but he talked about it like he was. </p>
<p>Jungmo remembers the shape of his eyes- kind and round, always wondering. </p>
<p>(Nothing like Minhee’s eyes, sharper and deeper but maybe just as kind-) </p>
<p><i>”You’re always so sad,”</i> he had said, <i>“why do you always look so sad?”</i></p>
<p>Jungmo had leaned against his locker and answered that he’d always been like this, sorry, and his friend had just nodded and smiled and told him to get to class in time. </p>
<p>He wonders where that friend is now. No one else had ever asked. He doesn’t know if anyone else had ever noticed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo eventually eats, opting for handfuls of Rice Krispy cereal straight from the box. He sits on the kitchen counter and gets cereal everywhere, all over his pajama pants and the kitchen floor. </p>
<p>From here he can see the dining table. </p>
<p>He swings his legs. They hit the cupboards under the counter loudly. </p>
<p>There are eight chairs around the dining table. Too many for a family of three. Not that they ever ate around the table- if they ate together, it was around the television. The table was for his father and his father’s business partners.</p>
<p>He swings his legs again. The sound echoes through the house. </p>
<p>His father wasn’t a patient man. He wasn’t mean, but he wasn’t patient- Jungmo remembers the black leather planner he always kept at an arm's length, and frown he would wear when Jungmo stumbled over his words.</p>
<p>He wasn’t mean, but he wasn’t patient- Jungmo has proof of his love in a college tuition, in the clothes he wears, in the house he sits in. That should count for something.</p>
<p>He swings his legs. The cabinets respond with a worrisome cracking noise. </p>
<p>He hopes the house falls apart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo sleeps and wakes in waves-</p>
<p>The sleep is dreamless and all-consuming, the waking is painful. He blinks his eyes open and is met with searing white light. He closes them and prays to go back to sleep. </p>
<p>Sometimes he falls asleep the second he closes his eyes, but most of the time it takes longer. He screw his eyes shut and smothers himself with the stupid temperpudic pillow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>Hyeongjun:</b> how are u?<br/>
<b>Hyeongjun:</b> u were in my dream last night<br/>
<b>Hyeongjun:</b> so idk. i thought i’d check in</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo lived in the same town for the first eighteen years of his life. </p>
<p>It was not as suffocating as it could be, really. He remembers ice cream trucks, neighborhood cats, and pick-up soccer on the block over. He remembers the pizza parlor in Old Town, their <i>perfect</i> pepperoni pizza. </p>
<p>Even the house has some good memories- this is the TV where he first watched Star Wars, here is the bathroom where his friend pierced his ears, here is the stain on the carpet from the time his family tried to make smores together and it was <i>fun</i>. </p>
<p>Perhaps it is not the home that is infected, but Jungmo- his body, his mouth, his aching chest, his bones. </p>
<p>He pulls the covers back over his head and hopes to sweat out the infection.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But there is no fever, just as the sun never sets. There is no infection, no disease, no parasite.</p>
<p>Just Jungmo: tired, aching, trapped under blankets and years of this, years more of it promised.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The proof of his father’s love really lies in this: 23 chromosomes heavy with his worst personality traits, his most innate burdens. The proof of his father’s love is in the shape of Jungmo’s eyes and the curve of his nail beds, in the parts of him the neighborhood moms compliment. </p>
<p>The proof of his father’s love lies in a seventh grade memory: his father, swaying from whiskey, calling Jungmo into the dining room. His father, eyes clouded, examining Jungmo as he waited in fear.</p>
<p><i>“I’m sorry.”</i> his father had said, voice rough and almost sad- if Jungmo hadn’t thought differently, then. If he hadn’t thought his father was a put-together man.  </p>
<p><i>“For what?”</i> Jungmo had dared to ask, and he shouldn’t have, he shouldn’t have, he shouldn’t have. </p>
<p>The proof of his father’s love lies in the answer:</p>
<p><i>“For having you.”</i> his father had said, and taken another sip from his glass tumbler. </p>
<p>Jungmo had just stood there, twelve years old and speechless. Jungmo had just stood there. </p>
<p><i>“You’re not going to be happy.”</i> his father had said, almost like an afterthought. <i> “And it’s my fault. I’m sorry.” </i></p>
<p>The proof of his father’s love lies in the sadness at the very heart of him, in the same sadness that his father was born with, in the same one that Jungmo will pass on to his children. </p>
<p>Jungmo holds this proof in his ribs like a pearl. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The doorbell rings. </p>
<p>Jungmo doesn’t have it in him to get out of bed, let alone go downstairs, let alone answer the door, let alone show his decaying body to the sun.</p>
<p>He screws his eyes shut and waits for the doorbell to ring again.</p>
<p>It doesn’t.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>Wonjin:</b> what r u up too?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wakes up next in the middle of the night. He reaches for his phone. It’s dead. </p>
<p>That’s what gets him out of bed, this time- his dead phone. The outlet is across the room. He throws the blankets off his body and lets the chill of the house sink into his skin, into his bones. It wakes him up.</p>
<p>His stomach growls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He turns on the Entryway light and sees a sheet of white paper laying on the floor.</p>
<p>Jungmo knows he didn’t put it there- he doesn’t even have loose paper. He also hasn’t been downstairs in what could be thirty six hours, if the severely parched state of his mouth is anything to go by. </p>
<p>He makes the executive decision to ignore the paper, at least on the way to the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of water and guzzles it, sending rivulets of water onto his shirt and all over the floor. </p>
<p>“Am I five?” he mutters. He doesn’t clean it up. It’s water, it’ll dry- plus, there is not a drop of energy left in his body. He is running on hunger. </p>
<p>He rummages through the freezer for something to eat and lands on a funky looking (but not expired!) frozen pesto pasta dish. He puts it in the microwave and hopes for the best. </p>
<p>The piece of paper hasn’t moved from the Entryway when he carries his bowl of pasta to the staircase. </p>
<p>“Fine.” he says, and folds it into the pocket of his pajama pants.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The pasta hurts his stomach. It might be because he hasn’t eaten in a few days, it might be because the meal was like a year old- either way, he throws it up pretty quickly. </p>
<p>He washes his mouth over the sink and ignores the paper in his pocket as it digs into his hip. He washes his hands, too, with soap and water. He brushes his teeth, tries and fails to flatten his hair with water, and shaves his stubble, washing the razor under the faucet afterwards. </p>
<p>Wonjin had taught him how to shave with the careful patience his father lacks. It comes to Jungmo’s mind every time he shaves, and every time he feels a cloying sadness in his chest, an embarrassing redness in his cheeks. </p>
<p>What a freshman roommate Jungmo had been- emotionally unstable, angry as hell, unaware of basic hygiene. What a godsend Wonjin was- understanding, a little snarky, endlessly kind through Jungmo’s ups and downs. He had seen the shaving nicks on Jungmo’s neck and asked him if anyone had ever taught him to shave.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo shakes his head as though that’ll clear it and decides to see if his phone has turned on. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>Jungmo:</b> how do I get out of a depressive episode<br/>
<b>Jungmo:</b> I know it’s late. I’m like… ok. no need to worry. just answer when you can. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wonjin FaceTimes him about three minutes after Jungmo hits send. </p>
<p>“You didn’t have to call me.” Jungmo answers with, and he feels worse because it’s obvious Wonjin just woke up. He’s sitting in bed, puffy eyes illuminated by a bedside lamp. </p>
<p>“Oh please.” he says, and raises his eyebrows. “So, what’s been going on?” </p>
<p>Jungmo has never done this before.</p>
<p>He’s unsure why he’s doing it now, but it seems that he is. </p>
<p>“I’m really sad.” Jungmo says, and it comes out childish, and he expects Wonjin to laugh. He doesn’t- he just tilts his head to the side. </p>
<p>“Have you been eating?” Wonjin asks. </p>
<p>“Like that’s gonna help.” Jungmo says. He immediately regrets it. Thankfully, Wonjin ignores him. </p>
<p>“And drinking water?” </p>
<p>“I had pasta.” Jungmo said. “But then I threw up.” </p>
<p>“You have rice in your house, right?” Wonjin asks. </p>
<p>“I think so.” </p>
<p>“That’s what I feed you when you’re depressed.” Wonjin says, like it’s <i>nothing</i>, but Jungmo hasn’t done this before, so it’s something. </p>
<p>“What?” </p>
<p>“I mean, that’s what you texted me, right?” </p>
<p>“Yeah.” Jungmo sighs. “I just haven’t fucking said it before.” He offhandedly notices that his tone is becoming angry. Wonjin doesn’t seem to care. In fact, Wonjin rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>“Look, me and Hyeongjun know you get depressive episodes. Whether you want to admit it right now or not, you get depressive episodes. I’ve been nursing you through them for like-“ </p>
<p>Wonjin waves his hands to indicate he has no idea.</p>
<p>“I’ve been helping you through depressive episodes for like three years, which isn’t my job by the way, I don’t get paid, but the least you could do is let me help you now that you’ve finally asked for it.” </p>
<p>Jungmo doesn’t say anything. His temper can’t help but cool. His anger isn’t directed at Wonjin- it’s directed at himself, at his own circumstances. </p>
<p>Plus, Wonjin is right. </p>
<p>“Okay?” Wonjin asks, looking a little wary. </p>
<p>“Okay.” Jungmo agrees. “Help me.” </p>
<p>“Alright.” Wonjin says. “You’re gonna want to write this down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo follows Wonjin’s instructions in this order: </p>
<p>1. He makes himself rice using his mom’s ancient rice cooker. It’s very watery. He eats it all anyways.<br/>
2. He discovers his mom’s tea collection. He makes himself chamomile tea. He drinks it all.<br/>
3. He takes a shower. He almost falls asleep in the shower. He washes his hair with years-old shampoo and gets out of the shower.<br/>
4. He sits in front of his laptop. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>These are the times I do not write about. </i>
</p>
<p><i>It reminds me of my father- sad, bitter, just always fucking sad. This doesn’t make me feel better, Wonjin.</i> </p>
<p>He combats the urge to slam his laptop shut. </p>
<p><i>I do not inflict myself on people for this very reason. Wonjin was an accident. So was Hyeongjun.</i> </p>
<p>He sighs.</p>
<p>
  <i>I am tired of being sad.</i>
</p>
<p>The folded paper digs into his hip. </p>
<p>
  <i>I am tired of feeling like a mess, like a burden. I am tired.</i>
</p>
<p>The folded paper digs into his hip and Jungmo won’t lie, he knows who slid it under the door. He didn’t have to read the penciled letters to know who wrote them. </p>
<p>
  <i>I just don’t want to think.</i>
</p>
<p>His breath makes soft sounds under the sunrise. He wonders if he can ever repay Wonjin for what he has given him. Probably not. </p>
<p><i>I just want to feel better.</i> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He digs the folded paper out of his pants pocket with clumsy, sweaty hands. A rotten part of him hopes that the pencil has rubbed off, that whatever was written originally is now just a graphite smear on the printer paper. It would give him an excuse to get back in bed. </p>
<p>He doesn’t know why this moment feels so momentous- the paper, still folded, sits on his closed laptop. The sun is peeking over the eaves of the Kang’s home, sending orange light through his bedroom. Jungmo bathes in it and wonders over the fear in his chest. </p>
<p>He unfolds the paper carefully, like it’s delicate, like it’s going to crumble in his hands. </p>
<p>
  <i>Jungmo, </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I hope this isn’t stupid. I don’t know if you’ve left, but if you did you should’ve said goodbye. If not: here’s my number. Sometimes it can be hard to get out of bed. Feel free to text me and I can just come over myself. Or not, of course. </i>
</p>
<p><i>- Minhee</i> </p>
<p>Jungmo holds the note in his hand like he would a glass figurine. His pulse echoes in his ears and he wonders if anyone has ever figured him out so quickly before. </p>
<p>He doesn’t think so.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>Jungmo:</b> hey, it’s jungmo. wanna come over and smoke?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Sunset</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I thought you left town.” </p><p>That’s the first thing Minhee says, his body framed in Jungmo’s front doorway. His brow is furrowed- it hadn’t crossed Jungmo’s mind that Minhee would be angry, or that they were close enough to warrant an outward show of emotion. </p><p>Just another rule that Minhee doesn’t know, doesn’t follow. </p><p>“I didn’t.” Jungmo says. “I fell asleep.”</p><p>It’s not supposed to be a real excuse. Minhee rolls his eyes and walks past Jungmo, into his house. He takes off his shoes and lines them up against the wall. Today his socks are pale yellow.</p><p>“You fell asleep.” he echoes a minute too late. </p><p>Jungmo has the sudden urge to scream. </p><p>“That’s what I said.” </p><p>“Yeah.” Minhee says. “It is.” </p><p>Jungmo turns around to snap at him, opens his mouth, even- but Minhee is grinning. It stops Jungmo in his tracks. It stops Jungmo’s heart clean in his chest, it pulls a grin to his lips. </p><p>“It is.” he parrots dumbly. </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t smoked since we last hung out,” Jungmo admits while he packs a bowl “So my tolerance is gonna be low. I might get higher than usual.”</p><p>Minhee, who’s laying on the couch like he never left, shrugs. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not gonna judge you.” </p><p>“Good.” Jungmo says. </p><p>Oh, he had forgotten what Minhee looked like- the perfect angles of his face and the way he keeps his lips slightly parted. He had forgotten how Minhee looks at him- like Jungmo is the most complicated puzzle he’s ever come across.</p><p>Minhee’s looking at him now. Jungmo can feel it as he packs the weed. He can feel Minhee’s eyes burning holes into his skull, he can see the position of Minhee’s head out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>“I’m done.” he announces, not looking up, and Minhee looks away from him. </p><p>“Hand it over.” Minhee says, and proceeds to clear the bowl in systematic fashion while Jungmo watches. </p><p>He flicks the lighter, it casts shadows. He inhales, holds his breath, exhales a wisp of smoke. He inhales, holds his breath, exhales, coughs three times. </p><p>“Dang.” he says, voice rough. “Cleared it. Sorry.” </p><p>He’s looking at Jungmo- his smile doesn’t scream <i>“I’m sorry,”</i> nor do his raised eyebrows.</p><p>“Minhee.” Jungmo says. </p><p>“Yes?” he answers. </p><p>Jungmo isn’t angry. Maybe that’s the scariest part.</p><p>“You’re weird.” he says, and repacks the bowl.</p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>Like he predicted, Jungmo gets high after a couple hits. The carpet calls out to him, so he lays back and stares at the ceiling. </p><p>“Wow.” Minhee says from somewhere, anywhere. It filters through Jungmo’s head like a cloud.</p><p>“Yes?” he asks, and his voice does not belong to him. He should take more breaks from smoking- the high is always so much better afterwards. He could be on the ceiling, bumping his head like an overinflated balloon. </p><p>“You’re really high.” Minhee laughs like windchimes. </p><p>“Yeah.” Jungmo agrees. </p><p>“Gimme.” Minhee says, and Jungmo has forgotten he was holding the bong in one hand. </p><p>“Oh.” Jungmo says. He’s comfortable on the floor. </p><p>“Fine.” Minhee sighs, and in the next moment he’s lying next to Jungmo on the floor. He feels the bong being plucked out of his hand.</p><p>“What do you see up here?” Minhee asks, and Jungmo turns his head to look at him.</p><p>Minhee is looking at the ceiling. Jungmo looks back up at the ceiling. </p><p>“Oh, a million things.” Jungmo says. There’s nothing up there but a little bit of water damage. </p><p>“Mhm.” Minhee says.</p><p>Jungmo does not need to see Minhee to <i>feel</i> his presence. He’s a heat along Jungmo’s side even though they aren’t touching, he’s a weight in Jungmo’s chest that wasn’t there when he was on the couch, at a safe distance. </p><p>“Is your bedroom window…” Jungmo starts, and now he can’t bring himself to stop this strangely vulnerable sentence. “Is it on the second floor, facing my house?”</p><p>There is a silence. Jungmo doesn't move a muscle. </p><p>“Why?” Minhee asks. </p><p>“Uh.” Jungmo says, and he wishes there was something on the ceiling to look at besides the spot of water damage that’s shaped like a dog. Why? Because he pays too much attention to Minhee, that’s why. Because Jungmo is strange- always has been.</p><p>“Ha!” Minhee says. He’s wheezing, no, Minhee’s laughing, heavy and breathy and barely making any noise at all. </p><p>“Jeez.” Jungmo sighs. </p><p>“You should’ve seen your face.” Minhee laughs. “All worried.” </p><p>“Stop looking at me.” Jungmo says. His cheeks are hot, he’s sure they’re red. He’s fucking sure of it.  </p><p>“Fine.” Minhee grumbles. </p><p>Jungmo’s almost glad he can’t turn his head- he can hear Minhee’s scowl. </p><p>A few moments pass. Minhee takes a deep breath.</p><p>“It is,” he says.  </p><p>“Hm?” Jungmo asks, context forgotten. </p><p>“It’s my bedroom window.” Minhee says. “Second floor, facing your house. You’re right.”</p><p> “Oh.” Jungmo says. “Well, go to sleep earlier.”</p><p>Minhee laughs. </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>“I used some of your tea.” Jungmo says. “Is that okay?” </p><p>“Of course.” his mom chuckles over the phone. “Why wouldn’t it be?” </p><p>“It was hidden pretty far back in the cupboard.” Jungmo says. </p><p>“Oh.” she laughs again. “That’s a precaution against your father.”</p><p>“Dad…” Jungmo pauses. “Drinks tea?”</p><p>“Why wouldn’t he?” she hums. </p><p><i>Because!</i> Jungmo suppresses the urge to whine, stomp his feet. He can’t say what he wants to say- something like <i>”Because he’s an asshole! Do assholes drink tea?”</i> He can’t say the truth, either- that his father is a cold man, and Jungmo can’t picture him wrapping his hands around a mug. </p><p>“I don’t know.” he chooses to say. “I guess I’ve never seen him drink any.”</p><p>“If I didn’t hide the tea he’d drink it all.” she says. “He has poor impulse control.” </p><p>Jungmo <i>does</i> know that. It’s not a trait that stopped with his father. </p><p>“Huh.” Jungmo says. </p><p>“So what have you been doing?” she asks. “Besides drinking tea, of course.”</p><p>
  <i>Smoking weed. Not processing my emotions.</i>
</p><p>“I watched some movies with Minhee.” he says instead. “And I did some summer homework.”</p><p>“Good!” she says. “Have you been feeding yourself? Do we have enough food? If not-”</p><p>“Yes, mom.” he says. He feels a smile dance over his face but he doesn’t let it stick. He’s not ready for that. “There’s enough food.” </p><p> </p><p>“I can always send you some grocery money, if you want.” she says.</p><p>“There’s enough food.” Jungmo repeats. </p><p>“Okay.” she says. “I’m sorry, Jungmo. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”</p><p><i>What about when I wasn’t alright?</i> Jungmo thinks, like he always does. <i>What about when I was younger?</i></p><p>It doesn’t matter now. That’s what it boils down too- that’s what he’s been avoiding. None of it matters now, not to anyone but him. </p><p>“I am, mom,” he says. “I’m alright.”</p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>“Did you also go to Muir?” </p><p>“High school?” Jungmo blows out smoke.  </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>“Yeah, I did.”</p><p>“It fucking sucked.” Minhee says, <i>curses.</i> It’s a bit jarring.</p><p>“It was okay.” Jungmo says. “I didn’t hate it.”</p><p>“I did.” Minhee says. Jungmo looks at him- his lips are pursed, his brow furrowed. </p><p>Jungmo didn’t hate high school. He hated being a teenager, he hated his parents and his feelings, but he didn’t hate high school. He remembers Muir High as a bit of a refuge, really. He remembers the guys he hung out with and his senior year locker, right next to the first period English classroom. </p><p>It’s hard to imagine Minhee didn’t have that- Jungmo looks at him and sees someone magnetic, sometimes sort of otherworldly. He can’t imagine Minhee didn’t have people clamoring to be his friend, to have his attention.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Jungmo says, because he is. </p><p>“Why?” Minhee asks, scowling. </p><p>Jungmo can’t help but feel that Minhee gets angry the same way he does- quickly, irrationally.  Minhee’s whole body tenses up when he’s pissed. He’s pulled his knees into his chest on the couch, his brow is furrowed. He resembles a coiled spring. </p><p>Jungmo is slightly endeared.</p><p>“I’m just sorry high school was shitty for you.” Jungmo shrugs. “I don’t need another reason.” </p><p>Minhee calms the same way Jungmo does- quickly, with a guilty expression on his face. He stretches his legs back out. Today his socks have little flamingos on them- Jungmo looks away as soon as he notices. He doesn’t need to be caught looking at Minhee’s <i>socks</i>.</p><p>“I’ll repack the bowl, if you want.” Minhee says.</p><p>It’s an apology that Jungmo easily accepts.</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>He didn’t need one to begin with.</p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p><b>Wonjin:</b> how r u feeling dude?</p><p><b>Jungmo:</b> a lot better<br/>
<b>Jungmo:</b> thank you. seriously</p><p><b>Wonjin:</b> hehe.... *giggles nervously*</p><p><b>Jungmo:</b> god, never mind!</p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>He’s watching a movie alone for the first time in a couple weeks.</p><p>It’s hard to pay attention to the plot- it’s a superhero film that Wonjin recommended. Jungmo thinks it’s pretty bad, but Hyeongjun and Wonjin have talked about the villain for years now so he figures he should be in the loop. The guy is hot, sure. He’s too muscled to be Jungmo’s type, though, and not interesting enough to keep Jungmo’s attention. He finds himself packing and repacking his bong without really thinking about it. </p><p>It’s a bad habit, smoking just to occupy himself when he’s bored. He knows it is- he does it anyways. </p><p>There’s a fight scene on the television. Jungmo watches it, for a moment- the hero punches the villain, the villain flies backwards. Hyeongjun has definitely tried to show him this clip before.</p><p>The hero is more Jungmo’s type, really. He’s this boy-next-door, a bit nerdy. He has these eyebrows that make him look a little angry, this semi-permanent frown. Or maybe he’s just a bad actor.</p><p>Jungmo turns off the television. It makes a sound as it shuts down, a bothersome whirring. </p><p>He torches another bowl.</p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>One morning he wakes up the sound of birds.</p><p>He blinks his eyes open to see the sun is filling his room with warm light. It shines on the wood of his desk, the stickers on his laptop, the knobs on his dresser drawers. It’s stupidly picturesque.</p><p>He is warm under the covers.</p><p>Perhaps he should feel happy. Perhaps, on a day like this, he should text Minhee, ask him to come over, enjoy the day with him as it cycles through the living room window. </p><p>Jungmo doesn’t… feel good, though. </p><p>He wants to reach into his genes and root out these pesky ones, the ones that will keep him in his bedroom on a morning where he was woken up by the sound of <i>birds</i>. </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>Noon finds Jungmo in front of his laptop. </p><p><i>The sins of my father,</i> he writes, and finds it dramatic, and finds that it works. </p><p>The morning has burned away into a hot, hot day. His desk, positioned in front of the window, puts him in a direct beam of sunlight. He could- he <i>should</i> go downstairs and turn on the air conditioning, but he won’t. </p><p>
  <i>Perhaps I am needlessly stubborn.</i>
</p><p>Sometimes he ends up writing something before thinking it, before processing it- now is one of those times. </p><p>He frowns at the sentence. He doesn’t think he is stubborn, not really. He just does what his mind tells him to do. Don’t all people? </p><p>He supposes he could always ask. </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p><b>Jungmo:</b> do you think that I’m stubborn</p><p><b>Hyeongjun:</b> LMAOOOO why would you ask /me/ this<br/>
<b>Hyeongjun:</b> at least ask wonjin he’ll soften the blow lmaoooooo</p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p><b>Wonjin:</b> ok i’m apologizing for hyeongjun but also yeah, ur stubborn. when u don’t want to do something there isn't a force in the world that can make u do it lol</p><p><b>Jungmo:</b> I hadn’t even asked you yet… :’0 </p><p><b>Wonjin:</b> i am LIVING with hyeongjun this summer omfg<br/>
<b>Wonjin:</b> and why did u ask him? r u in the mood to get ur feelings hurt<br/>
<b>Wonjin:</b> ah…<br/>
<b>Wonjin:</b> u ok?</p><p><b>Jungmo:</b> YES<br/>
<b>Jungmo:</b> no<br/>
<b>Jungmo:</b> I’ll be okay though. just a little down<br/>
<b>Jungmo:</b> Detective Wonjin at it again</p><p><b>Wonjin:</b> sometimes i amaze even myself<br/>
<b>Wonjin:</b> so are you being stubborn or something</p><p><b>Jungmo:</b> WHY are you my friend</p><p><b>Wonjin:</b> because i’m good for you. next question</p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>Jungmo doesn’t think that he’s stubborn. If he was stubborn, he would’ve stayed in bed. If he was stubborn, he wouldn’t be standing in front of his closed bedroom door, contemplating going downstairs for a bag of Doritos.</p><p>It’s not because his stomach is rumbling- it’s because he’s a super flexible guy. </p><p>Jungmo isn’t stubborn. He opens the bedroom door and takes a step into the rest of the house. </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p><b>Jungmo:</b> do you think I’m stubborn?</p><p><b>Minhee:</b> goodness gracious<br/>
<b>Minhee:</b> I don’t know if I’ve done enough research</p><p><b>Jungmo:</b> lol no worries, sorry</p><p><b>Minhee:</b> come over to mine and I can do some tests if you want</p><p><b>Jungmo:</b> is this you inviting me over to hang out</p><p><b>Minhee:</b> I thought it was super smooth, personally</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Moonrise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Minhee’s house is the same as Jungmo remembers it.</p><p>It’s smaller than his own and softer, the colors warmer. There are dozens of family photographs on the walls- even though the house is empty, it feels full of people. Minhee’s family has been living in the neighborhood for what could only be a few <i>months</i> and the house feels lived in, homely. </p><p>“We can’t smoke here because I’d get in huge trouble if my parents smelled it.” Minhee says as Jungmo takes off his shoes. “Is that okay?”</p><p>Is it? Jungmo’s only hung out with Minhee while smoking, but he’s also not a total asshole. He won’t refuse to hang out with him because they can’t get high. </p><p>Even more important than that, though, is that Minhee looks a little worried. Jungmo is gripped with the urge to placate him. </p><p>“Of course.” Jungmo says. “I’m sure you have lots of activities planned.”</p><p>That earns him a scowl. </p><p>“Actually,” Minhee says, and then sets off down a hallway without looking back. Jungmo follows him, of course. Minhee is magnetic and Jungmo is not immune. </p><p>“Actually,” Minhee repeats as they emerge in the kitchen. “I was baking. How do you feel about sugar cookies?” </p><p>“I like sugar cookies.” Jungmo says, and stands out of Minhee’s way as he digs through a set of drawers.</p><p>“I can’t promise they’ll be excellent.” Minhee says. He pulls out some sort of metal cooking instrument with a triumphant flourish. “They’ll be cookie shaped, though.”</p><p>“That’s already better then what I could do.” Jungmo admits. </p><p>“I seriously doubt that.” Minhee says. He’s crouching in front of the oven now, peering inside. “I just follow a recipe, nothing special.”</p><p>“Ha!” Jungmo recalls a specific instance where Hyeongjun had employed his help for  measuring the dry ingredients in a bundt cake. “Trust me on this one.”</p><p>“Hm.” Minhee says, but he’s still looking at the oven. “Your tone convinces me.”</p><p>“It’s a horrible story involving a cake that never solidified. I’ll say that much.” Jungmo says, and that makes Minhee laugh. </p><p>He has such a nice laugh. </p><p> </p><p>“Poor cakes.” Minhee says, still laughing.</p><p>“Poor cakes.” Jungmo agrees, and he’s smiling so wide it almost hurts. </p><p>Minhee stands up from his crouch in front of the oven.</p><p>“Well, we still have like twenty minutes, so…” Minhee puts his hands on his hips and looks at Jungmo expectantly. </p><p>“So…?” Jungmo doesn’t know what he’s expecting. </p><p>“Do you want to see my room?” Minhee asks, eyebrows raised. “Or is that too personal for you?”</p><p>There is a deadly silence. </p><p>Jungmo does not find rage- there should be rage, it should be boiling over in his chest, but there is none. He digs for it, tries to kindle it, but Minhee is standing in front of him with an amused expression and Jungmo doesn’t feel angry. He <i>should</i>. If it was anyone else, he would. </p><p>“You’re an asshole.” he breathes, and it’s with the most ferocity he can muster. He can muster very little. </p><p>“Maybe,” Minhee says. “Am I wrong, though? About you?” </p><p>“What?” Jungmo says. </p><p>“Am I wrong?” Minhee asks, and Jungmo wants to tell him to <i>shut up</i> but he is frozen in Minhee’s kitchen. “That you’re scared of getting close to people?” </p><p>Minhee is not wrong.  </p><p>He can’t help but marvel at the quietness inside of himself. There is no irritation, no fury. Just Minhee, looking at him from across the kitchen- just the smell of baking cookies. </p><p>“Let’s go to your room.” Jungmo mumbles. “For goodness sakes, Minhee.”</p><p>Minhee’s smile has been radiant this whole summer, and now it is no different. </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p><i>This is not a good thing.</i> Jungmo wants to write, but he can’t, because he’s going up the stairs in someone else’s house. </p><p><i>This is me without my defenses.</i> </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>Jungmo doesn’t know what he expected from Minhee’s room, but this is not it.</p><p>What he’s seen of Minhee is someone who seems well organized, put together. Someone who always knows what's going on, someone who’s a bit too assertive for his own good. A little hard to understand sometimes, sure- but Jungmo always assumed that was the result of his own shortcomings, not Minhee’s.</p><p>The room is basically empty, though, and what’s in the room had no place, no order. There’s two stacks of cardboard boxes. Minhee has barely unpacked. </p><p>There’s a bed- it’s shoved in one corner like an afterthought, the blue covers made perfectly. It’s as though Minhee doesn’t even use this room, doesn’t sleep in his bed.</p><p>As for personality, there’s only two things on the walls. One is a poster of a band Jungmo doesn’t recognize, the other is a photograph. They are both stuck to the wall with scotch tape. </p><p>Jungmo pauses in the doorway.</p><p>“How long have you lived here?” Jungmo asks. </p><p>Minhee looks at him. </p><p>“I’m aware I haven’t unpacked, if that’s what you’re getting at.”</p><p>“I’m not judging you.” Jungmo says- and he’s not. Why would he? Minhee sits down on the bed like he’s comfortable with his empty room, with his photograph and his poster and his one chair.</p><p>“Where do I sit?” Jungmo asks, because he’s not going to put his ass on Minhee’s bedspread without permission. “The reject chair, maybe?”</p><p>He’s talking about how it’s pushed into a corner like an afterthought. </p><p>“You can sit there if you want.” Minhee shrugs. “There’s space on the bed, too.” </p><p>He looks at Jungmo expectantly. </p><p>“Okay.” Jungmo says. </p><p>It’s so much easier to deal with Minhee when they're high. </p><p>No, that’s not fair, and Jungmo knows it. The nervousness he’s feeling right now is just another feeling that smoking helped hide.  </p><p>He feels nervous when he walks across Minhee’s empty room, he feels nervous when he sits next to Minhee on his bed. He feels nervous when Minhee leans back on his arms, a leisurely gesture. </p><p>“I was just thinking I’d pull out the cookies and then we could watch a movie or something.” Minhee says, and he seems comfortable. </p><p>It makes sense, after all. Minhee’s pulse doesn’t race when they’re close like Jungmo’s does. Minhee doesn’t need to keep himself under control. Minhee doesn’t play the game that Jungmo does- he doesn’t see how close he can get before it becomes too much.  Minhee doesn’t have to keep his impulses in check, doesn’t have to snip and stitch every conscious thought that slips <i>too</i> close to the truth of the matter. </p><p>The truth of the matter-</p><p>Which is just that Jungmo is nervous. Nothing more. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Minhee asks.</p><p>“Hm?” Jungmo says. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Nervous?”</p><p>“No.” Jungmo scoffs. It comes out weak. Minhee has been frustratingly good at reading him from the moment they started spending time together. </p><p>“You don’t need to be.”</p><p>“I said I’m not.”</p><p>“But you are.” Minhee laughs just once.  “I can tell.”</p><p>“Can you?” Jungmo says, and annoyance overrides anxiety for a moment. He turns his head to look at Minhee. </p><p>Jungmo’s breath sticks in his throat- it’s lodged below his jaw, unwilling to be exhaled. Minhee has a dusting of freckles on his cheeks that Jungmo hadn’t noticed before. They’ve never been this close before, probably. That’s why he’s never seen them, because he and Minhee have never sat next to each other like this, have never looked at each other while they were this close.</p><p>“It’s ok.” Minhee says.</p><p>“It’s okay?” Jungmo breathes.</p><p>“It’s okay to be nervous when you’re somewhere new.” Minhee is talking quieter than normal.</p><p>“I’m not nervous.” Jungmo says. </p><p>“Uh huh.” Minhee says, and scoots a foot closer. </p><p>There is not a word that Jungmo can find for how he feels- nervous is much too pale. His heart beats out of his chest and Minhee’s hair falls over his forehead and looks like it feels soft. Jungmo’s body doesn’t even belong to him, right now- his body is sitting in front of Minhee but <i>he</i> is in the air, he is far away.</p><p>When Minhee exhales, Jungmo can feel it on his face. He thinks he might be shaking with it, with the fear and the shame and the proximity of Minhee’s slight smile. </p><p>“Stop it.” Jungmo says.</p><p>Minhee turns his head away. He’s frowning- Jungmo can’t bring himself to care. He only cares that his heart has slowed down. </p><p>“Fine,” Minhee says. </p><p>There is a silence.</p><p>Jungmo is still looking at Minhee- Minhee is looking forward. Maybe if Jungmo looks at Minhee enough he’ll understand his intentions, the reasons why he does the things he does and says the things he says. Maybe if he looks at Minhee enough, Minhee will make sense.</p><p>“You <i>are</i> stubborn.” Minhee says, <i>sighs.</i> “Maybe the stubbornest person I’ve ever met.”</p><p>“The stubbornest person?” Jungmo says, and he might be smiling. He’s smiling, foreign and uncomfortable from the whiplash change in mood. </p><p>“You won’t ever admit anything you don’t want to.” Minhee says quietly. “You frustrate me a lot, actually.”</p><p>“You invited me over, Minhee.” Jungmo reminds him. What Minhee is saying is angry, but he doesn’t <i>sound</i> angry. He sounds resigned, he looks a little sad. </p><p>“Yeah.” Minhee says. “And you asked me if I thought you were stubborn.”</p><p>“Well,” Jungmo starts, but that’s true. He did ask. </p><p>And maybe he is stubborn- sitting here with his heart in his throat, denying his own emotion tooth and nail. </p><p>“Sorry.” Minhee says, and he says sorry a lot but it seems like it means something different every time. This time he’s frowning. This time Jungmo feels dizzy.</p><p>“No,” Jungmo says. “I did ask, didn’t I?”</p><p>“You did ask.” Minhee says. </p><p>The silence comes back. Perhaps Jungmo should be more uncomfortable in the silence, perhaps he should be squirming in his seat. Instead he looks at the wall, at the scotch-taped photograph. He breathes in and breathes out and curls one hand into Minhee’s bedspread. </p><p>When he is high he can pretend. Right now it is <i>very</i> hard to pretend. </p><p>Right now there are truths, deliberately hidden, dripping down his neck and the back of his shirt. Right now they are poised to be shaped into words- like dangerous projectiles, aimed at Jungmo’s train of thought.</p><p>Perhaps he already knows.  </p><p>“I should check on the cookies,” Minhee says, and pushes himself off the bed. “Come with me?”</p><p>“Oh,” Jungmo says, his mind suddenly blank. “Yeah, sure.”</p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>Minhee had lied about his baking abilities. The cookies are excellent and if Jungmo was high the sheet wouldn’t stand a chance- as it is he eats three and a half before catching the way Minhee is looking at him, eyebrows raised.</p><p>“What?” he asks, mouth full of sugar cookies. </p><p>“Nothing,” Minhee says, and smiles. “Enjoy yourself, I guess.”</p><p>Jungmo rolls his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>They watch <i>Pacific Rim</i> in the living room. </p><p>Well, Minhee watches <i>Pacific Rim</i> in the living room. Jungmo looks at the TV, and then at light on Minhee’s face, and then back at the TV. They’ve switched from their usual places- Jungmo is sitting on the couch and Minhee is sitting cross-legged on the floor, back propped against a couch leg. </p><p>From here, Minhee can’t see Jungmo looking at him. And maybe Jungmo should have shame, some semblance of self-control, but he doesn’t. Not when the opportunity is so easily presented, not when Minhee is right there.</p><p>“This part is so cool.” Minhee says, smiling wide. </p><p>“Yeah,” Jungmo breathes, and looks back at the TV. </p><p>There is no part of him that wants to focus on the on-screen action. He badly needs to write- there is a feeling inside of himself that needs to be wrangled. It’s a weight in his chest that makes it harder and harder to breathe and he needs to <i>write,</i> he needs to get out of here. </p><p>Outside of the window the sun is finally setting- the day is giving in with splendid colors. Jungmo looks there, instead. </p><p>He looks at a tree, watches as the light paints it yellow, a jagged lighting strike. </p><p>“When do your parents come home?” Jungmo asks.</p><p>“They’re coming back late.” Minhee says, and does not look away from the TV. </p><p>“When we’re done with the movie,” Jungmo asks, “do you want to come over to mine?” </p><p>Minhee exhales. </p><p>“Am I boring?” he asks. </p><p>“No,” Jungmo says, because he <i>isn’t</i>. On the contrary, Jungmo can’t stop thinking about him. </p><p>Jungmo can’t stop thinking- </p><p>“Because you want to get high?” Minhee pauses the movie.</p><p>“You make me sound like an asshole.” Jungmo says. “Yes. Because I want to get high.” </p><p>“Do you really want me to come with you?” Minhee asks, and that makes Jungmo raise his eyebrows.</p><p>“Are you seriously asking me that?”</p><p>“What,” Minhee says, a little bit petulant. “Is that not a valid question?” </p><p>Jungmo <i>wants</i> to reply with the blunt truth- that he wouldn’t invite Minhee over if he didn’t want him. That he doesn’t… really want Minhee to ever leave. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Jungmo says instead. </p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean.” Minhee is still looking at the paused television- he is frowning. Jungmo thinks he’s missed something more than just the inherent rudeness of saying that he wants to go get high. </p><p>“I don’t know.” Jungmo sighs, because there’s no way he can articulate that. “I wouldn’t invite you if I didn’t want you over, though.” </p><p>“Right, cause you’re an asshole.” Minhee says.</p><p>“Exactly.” Jungmo rolls his eyes. </p><p>They sit in silence for a moment and Jungmo doesn’t know if he’s gotten approval, so he waits for Minhee’s frown to fade. </p><p>It does- slowly, slowly. First his brow relaxes, then his lips, until he is looking at the paused television with a completely neutral expression. </p><p>Jungmo waits. </p><p>He has known Minhee for six weeks. He is leaving him in two. This shouldn’t hurt- they are <i>acquaintances</i>, for goodness sakes. They are occasional smoke buddies, they are closer to strangers then to friends. </p><p>Jungmo is nothing to Minhee and well- Minhee should be nothing to Jungmo but he <i>isn’t</i>. Jungmo pushes down the urge to apologize right then and there, to air his sins, to drown in whatever horrified expression Minhee would give him if he told him-</p><p>Jungmo is not strong enough to stay away from him, just as he is not strong enough to put the reason into words. </p><p>“Okay.” Minhee says, and turns back to look at Jungmo. </p><p>He looks tired- the excitement from the movie is gone, replaced with something hollow. Jungmo knows that he did this. </p><p>“I’m sorry.” Jungmo says, and hopes it covers everything- the movie interruption, his unnecessary bluntness, the unfortunate way he feels. </p><p>Minhee shakes his head. </p><p>“It’s fine, Jungmo.”</p><p>“Is it, Minhee?”</p><p>“Let’s just-” Minhee turns off the TV. “Let’s just go before I change my mind.” </p><p>Jungmo lets Minhee herd him towards the doorway after that- he watches Minhee rush around the house, turning off the lights and closing open windows. </p><p>“Next time I bake for you, you’re washing the dishes.” Minhee says as he closes and locks the front door of his house. </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>It’s dark now. The sky is a deep grey color that reminds Jungmo of his location- in the suburbs on the outskirts of a metropolitan city, messy with pollution. Out here there are only a few visible stars, and in the time it takes for Jungmo to go back to his house he sees none of them. </p><p>Just the endless expanse of dark grey night. </p><p>Jungmo hasn’t locked his front door, so he just pushes it open. Minhee raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“Did you mean to do that?” he asks.</p><p>“We can’t all be super responsible.” Jungmo grumbles. </p><p>“I’m not super responsible.” Minhee says, and lines up his sandals against the wall.</p><p>“Uh huh.” Jungmo says. </p><p>“Are you making fun of me?” Minhee says, and he seems more surprised than hurt- he’s smiling a little bit, his arms crossed over his chest.</p><p>“And if I am?” Jungmo says.</p><p>Minhee laughs.</p><p>“It’s fine. I’ve been making fun of you since day one.”</p><p>“Hey…” Jungmo says. He thinks his face is red.</p><p>“So,” Minhee says, ignoring him. “Can I see your room now?”</p><p>Jungmo sighs. </p><p>“Minhee, c’mon-” he starts, and then stops.</p><p>“What?” Minhee says. </p><p>Jungmo pictures Minhee in his room- Minhee, shining, in a box made of matchsticks. He thinks about the room that makes him feel trapped and he thinks about Minhee who makes him feel <i>happy</i>. It’s more than a violation of privacy now. It’s not that at all anymore, really.</p><p>“Why do you want to see my room?”</p><p>“It’s only fair.” Minhee says. “You’ve seen mine.”</p><p>“That’s-” Jungmo starts and stops again. This isn’t the first time Minhee’s asked him, that’s what he wants to say. But Minhee is scowling already and Jungmo doesn’t actually have a reason to hide his room.</p><p>“Fine.” He says. “Follow me, I guess.”</p><p>The staircase feels like a funeral march, and Jungmo doesn’t know why he feels dread but he <i>does</i>, dripping through his body. When they get to the landing Jungmo pauses outside of his door. From this side, it’s completely impossible to tell that it used to belong to him. He wonders if it’s the same on the inside.</p><p>“Alright,” Jungmo sighs, and pushes the door open. </p><p>He’d forgotten to turn off his desk lamp, because of course he had. It illuminates everything in an orange wash, a faux sun setting over his bedroom.</p><p>“Ah,” Minhee says. “I see.”</p><p>Jungmo can’t acknowledge that- he can’t begin to comprehend what it means, so he ignores it. Instead he digs through his sock drawer for his stash and the purple grinder he’d stolen from Wonjin in sophomore year. He pulls it out when he finds it, tosses it onto his unmade bed. </p><p>He’s grateful for his lack of <i>stuff</i> right now- it’s only because he brought nothing that the room looks as clean as it does. The unmade bed reveals his true hygiene habits, unfortunately.  </p><p>Minhee is standing in the middle of the room, eyes narrowed, gaze raking over everything. Jungmo looks away immediately. He doesn’t want to see Minhee’s eyes, he doesn’t want to know what Minhee is thinking. He wishes Minhee wasn’t so curious. </p><p>“I’m gonna fill up the bong.” Jungmo says, and darts into the attached bathroom. </p><p>While he’s filling up the bong- this marbled purple creation he got as a birthday gift from Hyeongjun- he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He doesn’t look quite as horrible as he feels, but his cheeks are pink, his hair is messy.</p><p>He lifts his hand to smooth it but- but will it be obvious if he fixes his hair? Will Minhee wonder why he cares?</p><p>“Fuck.” he whispers. “Get it together, Jungmo.”</p><p>He leaves his hair as it is, sticking out in odd angles. He’s overthinking and he knows it- that doesn’t mean he can stop, though.</p><p>He needs to get high. </p><p>“Took you a bit.” Minhee says. He’s still standing in the middle of the room, but now he’s just looking at Jungmo.</p><p>“Sorry.” Jungmo says. “Um, you can sit down.” </p><p>“Where are you gonna sit?” Minhee asks, and it’s a fair question. There’s his desk chair, there’s a messy bed. That’s about it.</p><p>“Fuck.” Jungmo says, and Minhee raises his eyebrows. “The floor, probably.”</p><p>And Minhee doesn’t move, so Jungmo sits his ass on the wooden floor.</p><p>“I didn’t know if you were joking.” Minhee smiles, and sits down on the spot where he was standing. </p><p>Jungmo doesn’t look at Minhee in his room while he chooses a nug- he doesn't look at Minhee in his room as he grinds it, he doesn’t look at Minhee in his room. He packs the bong and doesn’t look at Minhee in his room. </p><p>“Can I have the first hit?” Minhee asks, and Jungmo looks at him. </p><p>Minhee is just- he’s handsome in the lamp light, he’s handsome always. Jungmo looks at him, his cheekbones, the tiny opening between his lips. </p><p>“Whatever.” Jungmo says, tired to the bone, and he can’t bring himself to sound exasperated. </p><p>“Only because you kicked me out of my own home.” Minhee says, taking the bong and lighter. </p><p>“I did <i>not</i>-” Jungmo starts, argumentative spark momentarily ignited, but Minhee flicks the lighter and his voice is drowned out by the gurgling of the bong.</p><p>Half of the bowl is unsmoked when Jungmo gets it back. His mouth could’ve watered- he <i>needs</i> this, now more than ever. </p><p>When he lights the bowl, when it burns orange and red, he closes his eyes and hopes to feel differently.  He holds the smoke in for five seconds-</p><p>and exhales, opens his eyes. </p><p>Minhee is looking at him. </p><p>Jungmo does not feel differently. His heart is… <i>fluttering</i>, his skin is warm under Minhee’s gaze.</p><p>“Yes?” he breathes out. </p><p>Minhee does not look away from him.</p><p>“Nothing,” he says, slowly. “Nothing in particular.”</p><p>Jungmo is not high enough for this. </p><p>“I’m gonna repack the bowl.” he announces, and does just that, aware of Minhee looking at him. </p><p>Jungmo wonders if his stares are as blatantly obvious. He hopes not, because his are not fueled from innocent curiosity like Minhee is. Jungmo’s stares are- </p><p>He is not well-intentioned. That’s as much as he’ll admit. </p><p>He’ll take the first hit of this bowl, he decides. </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>It’s easier when he’s high. </p><p>Jungmo has applied that logic to a couple things before- parties, meeting new people, getting rightfully lectured by Wonjin for not cleaning the dishes in a week. </p><p>He had hoped, after a day of wrestling with thoughts he didn’t want to be having, that being high would quiet it.</p><p>He looks at Minhee- red eyed, looking somewhere far away. He had started playing music from his phone a few bowls ago and he’s bouncing his head to it now, a little out of rhythm. His roots have started growing out, the black a sharp contrast to the bleach blonde on the rest of his head.</p><p>Nothing Jungmo feels is <i>quiet</i>- the only thing the weed did was make it more comfortable. </p><p>Jungmo <i>likes</i> Minhee. </p><p>Jungmo’s probably liked Minhee from the moment they met- because Minhee has always looked like this, has always had a sharp tongue, an even sharper laugh, a soft smile. </p><p>Of course Jungmo would like Minhee-  Minhee gets high and dumb with him, puts up with his mood swings, seems to <i>want</i> to hang out with him. Minhee is intuitive, smart, blunt in a way that doesn’t hurt, unpredictable and clever. </p><p>Of course Jungmo would like Minhee- Minhee is lanky, beautiful, always watching him, always listening. Always asking questions. </p><p>“You want to repack the bowl?” Minhee asks, gaze refocusing. “Sorry, I got lost in thought.”</p><p> </p><p>Jungmo expects to be seized with terror, with anxiety. He isn’t. He feels much calmer than he did before, trying to shut himself off at Minhee’s house.</p><p>“Sure.” he says.</p><p>Nothing changes- most of him had already known the truth, after all. </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>Minhee leaves just before midnight. </p><p>“My dad texted me,” he sighs, and looks reluctant to leave. </p><p>Jungmo can admit, now, that it makes him happy. It makes him happy that Minhee wants to stay. </p><p>“I have febreeze in the bathroom if you want to spray yourself.” he says instead.</p><p>“Good thinking.” Minhee says, and disappears into the bathroom.</p><p>Nothing changes- because even if Jungmo likes Minhee, has feelings for him, these things are still true:</p><p>Minhee is more than two years younger than him. Minhee sees Jungmo as a cool older friend, someone to do drugs with. On top of that, in two weeks, Jungmo will probably never see him again. He doubts that Minhee plans on staying in touch- why would he? Jungmo is just a summer convenience, nothing more.</p><p>“God.” Minhee says as he comes out of the bathroom. “I sprayed some in my mouth.”</p><p>“Dumbass.” Jungmo says, and hopes it’s not too fond. “Get home safe.”</p><p>“I live next door.” Minhee laughs.</p><p>Jungmo stays silent. </p><p>“But I’ll text you when I get home, Jungmo.” Minhee smiles wide, eyes still red. Jungmo can’t help but hope that his parents won’t notice.</p><p>“Uh huh.” Jungmo says.</p><p>“I will, though.” Minhee scowls. </p><p>“Go home, Minhee.” Jungmo says, and he doesn’t mean it at all.</p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p><b>Minhee:</b> got home safely :) </p><p><b>Jungmo:</b> I’m glad you survived the harrowing journey</p><p><b>Minhee:</b> sleep well :)</p><p><b>Jungmo:</b> you too, Minhee</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>PHEW... this one is twice as long as usual. I'm also a little nervous about it....</p><p>I've also noticed that my chapter notes are constantly wonky, that a note I deleted forever ago keeps showing up... I also don't know if it's just me seeing it? Either way if you guys are also seeing two end chapter notes i'm sorry, I don't know how to fix it. I'm a bit tech illiterate lmao.</p><p>ALSO! This bad boy will probably have like three more chapters.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Writer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>He is looking at the wall and I am looking at his<br/>looking. Difficult thing, to be scrutinized so long.</p>
</div>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sky at 4 am is the blue of a deep ocean- dark and oppressive, endless. </p>
<p>Jungmo can’t see the moon from where he’s sitting- just the night through the window, and the roof of Minhee’s home illuminated by a yellow street light. </p>
<p>He has not been tired for hours- he has not slept since Minhee left his house at midnight. Instead, he is overwhelmingly awake. His heart beats worryingly fast. </p>
<p>There is something in his chest driving him to breathlessness, there is a shaking in his hands. </p>
<p>He sits in his dark room and waits for the sun to rise. </p>
<p><i>I am overwhelmed by this,</i> he writes. <i>I can’t begin to think.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo is nine years old when his mother takes him to the Natural History Museum and tells him that she and his father are getting divorced. </p>
<p>Jungmo’s looking at a fossil when she says it- he’s trying to sound out the words <i>Allodesmus Gracilis</i> when she says it, her tone low and tired. He looks away from the fossil and at her, then. Nine year old Jungmo takes in her frown, her worried eyes. </p>
<p>“Okay,” he says, and looks back at the fossil. </p>
<p>The plaque in front states that the animal was some sort of Prehistoric seal. </p>
<p><b>The Allodesmus, </b> Jungmo reads, <b>measured about 8 feet in length and weighed approximately 300 pounds.</b> </p>
<p>“Are we going to move?” Jungmo asks.</p>
<p><b>15 million years ago, when this city was covered in water, Allodesmus might have lived here!</b> </p>
<p>The <i>Allodesmus Gracilis</i> plaque is rusted.</p>
<p>“I don’t think so,” she says. “But everything is pretty up in the air right now.”</p>
<p>He wonders if his father will take the table in the dining room.</p>
<p>He’s pretty sure it’s an apology- the spiral notebook his mom buys him at the museum gift shop. It’s brown and covered in green stegosauruses. She gives him a ballpoint pen on the car ride home and he attempts to write about seals and dinosaurs while they drive on the freeway. </p>
<p>Jungmo’s father doesn’t live with them for four months. </p>
<p>Jungmo doesn’t remember a lot about his childhood- it’s mostly snippets of memory, flashes of retold story. This, though, he remembers. He remembers what it felt like to get home from school and not be afraid of making too much noise. He can summon, for a split second, what the house felt like without his father in it. </p>
<p>He remembers being in the living room more often, doing his simple math homework on the coffee table while his mother worked on her computer. He remembers his mother bringing in a pot of tea every evening, glasses perched on her nose. He remembers that she always brought a tin of sugar, even though she doesn’t take sugar in her tea. </p>
<p>He doesn’t remember what they did with his father’s big chair.</p>
<p>When Jungmo is ten years old, his mother tells him that his father is moving back in. </p>
<p>Ten year old Jungmo is close enough to his mother to tell that this is a positive thing for her. He can tell that she is nervous when she tells him. </p>
<p>Ten year old Jungmo tries his best to smile at her. He does not have it in him to break her. </p>
<p>“Good,” he lies. </p>
<p>It takes a couple days for his father to actually move back in, but Jungmo doesn’t do his homework in the living room again. If his mother notices, she doesn’t say anything- and by then his father is back in the dining room, presence taking up the entire downstairs area. </p>
<p>Jungmo’s always been glad that his bedroom is on the second floor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He clears his head with a bowl at 6 am.</p>
<p>If Wonjin were here he’d tell Jungmo to wait until noon, but Wonjin’s not here- so he packs a bowl under the light of a silent dawn.</p>
<p>He holds the smoke in until he chokes on it and spends a couple minutes hacking his lungs out in a series of horrible sounds. </p>
<p>When he finally breathes in fresh air, his throat is raw and pained. </p>
<p>He’ll cough his heart into his lap any moment now. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo is eleven when he begins to notice that he’s different. </p>
<p>It isn’t one thing, either- Jungmo is eleven when he notices that he is fundamentally different from every other student in his class.</p>
<p>He watches the kids around him thrive. He watches them talk to each other and laugh with apparent ease. </p>
<p>He’s never been a loner, but he doesn’t feel close to his friends. Most of the time he ends up befriending tablemates out of sheer convenience- they sit next to him, and he doesn’t have to go out of his way to talk to them. He’s never been motivated to seek other people out, he’s never had the urge to befriend someone.  </p>
<p>He watches the kids around him climb on the jungle gym, watches them eat lunch and finish their homework before class. They all seem to get each other, like there's an undercurrent to their conversation in a universal language. </p>
<p>Jungmo doesn’t understand that language. </p>
<p>It’s not just that- Jungmo doesn’t feel happy, most of the time. And <i>that’s</i> not even the most important thing, the most glaring inconsistency. That would be-</p>
<p>That would be something that eleven year old Jungmo was not ready to put into words.</p>
<p>Jungmo is eleven when he stops playing soccer on the lawn. There’s nothing in particular that causes this- one day, he takes the ball outside and feels acutely uncomfortable. He writes more, after that. The restlessness that was originally translated into soccer is now written down on paper. </p>
<p>For his twelfth birthday, one of his seatmates gets him a notebook- it’s a journal, really. It’s a beautiful thing. Jungmo can’t really believe the boy had not only known that he liked to write but had also remembered his birthday- <i>and</i> gotten him a gift.</p>
<p>The journal is blue and gold. It has a little decorative clasp. </p>
<p>His seatmate shrugs when he hands it over, like it’s no big deal. Jungmo doesn’t know what to say. </p>
<p>He never writes in it. Looking at the gold clasp gives him an upset feeling in his stomach. He finds himself avoiding the seatmate that had given it to him- he gives Jungmo the same feeling. </p>
<p>It’s all very confusing. </p>
<p>He ends up writing on printer paper, just for a little. Soon afterwards his mother notices and buys him another brown, spiral notebook. It’s the same as his first one, just without dinosaurs. It’s not as nice as the one his seatmate gave him, but it doesn’t make him feel anything. </p>
<p>It’s better that way. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>Minhee:</b> can I come over<br/>
<b>Minhee:</b> can I smoke your weed</p>
<p><b>Jungmo:</b> wow<br/>
<b>Jungmo:</b> leech</p>
<p><b>Minhee:</b> is that a no :(</p>
<p><b>Jungmo:</b> god<br/>
<b>Jungmo:</b> come on over :/</p>
<p><b>Minhee:</b> did you just “:/”<br/>
<b>Minhee:</b> haha </p>
<p><b>Jungmo:</b> I’m not That Old</p>
<p><b>Minhee:</b> sorry no time to text! getting ready to go over to some guys house </p>
<p><b>Jungmo:</b> wow<br/>
<b>Jungmo:</b> hope you have fun with this guy I guess</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The knock at the door is louder than usual- or maybe those are Jungmo’s nerves. </p>
<p>Either way, he opens the front door. </p>
<p>“Hey,” Minhee says, smiling. </p>
<p>“Hi,” Jungmo says, and he hopes he’s imagining the shakiness in his voice. </p>
<p>“Hi,” Minhee says, and he’s still smiling. “can I come in?” </p>
<p>Jungmo steps out of the doorway and Minhee walks in. He kneels down to untie his sneakers before he takes them off, picks apart the knots with long fingers as Jungmo watches. He’s double knotted his laces just to walk one house over. </p>
<p>Oh- Jungmo likes him so much. There is nothing about Minhee that he doesn’t find endearing, enigmatic.</p>
<p>“Are you okay if we go to your room?” Minhee asks.</p>
<p>“<i>Now</i> you care about my choices?” Jungmo jokes.</p>
<p>“I do most of the time.” Minhee says, pouting a little. </p>
<p>“Uh huh.”</p>
<p>“Sometimes,” Minhee says, “I just needed to take proactive measures to move our friendship along.”</p>
<p>“I-” Jungmo starts. “Proactive measures to…”</p>
<p>Oh, Minhee’s cute. He looks annoyed right now, with his arms crossed in front of his chest and his foot tapping against the stone floor. </p>
<p>“Proactive measures to move our friendship along.” Jungmo finishes, if only to see Minhee sulk for a moment longer. “Got it.”</p>
<p>“You’re so..” Minhee says, rolling his eyes.</p>
<p>“Funny?” Jungmo says. “Charming?”</p>
<p>“Oh my <i>god</i>...” Minhee says, very much eighteen in that moment, in his pitch and tone of voice. Wow- he reminds Jungmo of Hyeongjun, there. They are both so different from him.</p>
<p>At that moment, Jungmo decides to cut it out.</p>
<p>“Sorry.” he says. “And yeah, let’s go upstairs.” </p>
<p>“Lead the way.” Minhee says, so Jungmo does. The stairs creak under their feet and Jungmo hasn’t ever cared much about silences, or filing them, but right now he feels silence in the whole house. </p>
<p>He feels it on his skin, he feels it in the thickness of the air he inhales. He feels Minhee two steps behind him. </p>
<p>“Thank you for letting me come over.” Minhee says.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to thank me,” Jungmo says, and hopes that his words aren’t too soft. </p>
<p>God, he had a tendency to overthink before- it’s worse, now. It’s worse now that he knows.</p>
<p>Jungmo pushes the bedroom door open and makes a beeline to the dresser.</p>
<p>He hears Minhee close the door with a click.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo is fifteen when he meets Serim. </p>
<p>Well, they don’t exactly meet- Jungmo is walking in the school hallway when they make eye contact for the first time. Jungmo thinks Serim will look away, but he doesn’t. He smiles. </p>
<p>Jungmo remembers his smile- a wide, reckless thing, full of teeth. </p>
<p>They never exactly <i>meet</i>. They pass each other in locker rooms, hallways, the cafeteria. Serim smiles at him like they know each other, like they talk, like they don’t make eye contact and Jungmo doesn’t just look at the floor immediately. </p>
<p>They’ve never even been introduced.</p>
<p>Jungmo knows Serim’s name because everyone knows Serim’s name, and that’s part of the problem. Jungmo can’t exactly confide in his friends- he can’t expect to be believed if he says:<br/>
“Hey, you know the captain of the Junior Varsity team? Yeah, I know I’ve never talked to him in my life, but he keeps smiling at me and I’m not sure how that makes me feel.”</p>
<p>He can’t say that for other reasons, too- mostly because it’s not a bad feeling. Serim’s unexplainable smiles in the hallway don’t make him feel <i>threatened,</i> they don’t make him think Serim is weird. </p>
<p>Jungmo is sixteen when he shares his first and only class with him. Jungmo is sixteen and Serim isn’t his friend, but Serim smiles at him when he walks into AP Biology and Jungmo <i>wishes</i> he was. </p>
<p>Jungmo writes on a laptop, now. He drinks his father’s vodka mixed with orange juice and writes on his laptop about being angry and lonely and <i>confused</i>. </p>
<p>He writes on his laptop about long dark hair and a loud laugh.  </p>
<p>Jungmo is sixteen when he realizes he likes men. Well, it’s not a realization- it’s more of an acceptance. It feels like it had grown into an impossible fact to ignore. </p>
<p>It has everything to do with the upperclassman in the hallway, his voice, his overstuffed backpack, the way people craved his attention, gravitated towards him en masse. </p>
<p>Jungmo’s always liked the magnetic ones. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So,” Minhee says. “Do you have any friends at college?”</p>
<p>“Questions, again.” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>“I wouldn’t have to ask if you just told me things about yourself.” Minhee says. The light of the afternoon makes his eyes golden and he’s staring straight at Jungmo. He looks like a different person sometimes- when his face becomes unreadable, when Jungmo feels like he’s being examined under a microscope. His limbs have been rearranged to fit inside a petri dish and Minhee will study him with the care of a seasoned scientist. </p>
<p>“You first,” Jungmo says, and looks away from Minhee to start packing a new bowl. He doesn’t really expect Minhee to answer. </p>
<p>“Fine,” Minhee says. “My best friend is Seongmin. He lives back home.” </p>
<p>Jungmo looks up again. He wonders what sort of town Minhee grew up in. He can’t help but imagine somewhere by the ocean, or maybe a fancy city- not the suburbs, surely. Nowhere like this, especially with how much Minhee seems to resent it. Nowhere mediocre.</p>
<p>“Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry.” </p>
<p>Minhee frowns. It’s directed at a point somewhere behind Jungmo.</p>
<p>“I am too.” Minhee says. </p>
<p>Jungmo returns his attention to the bowl, packing it with the bottom of a blue lighter. </p>
<p>“Your turn,” Minhee says. </p>
<p>It’s not that Jungmo minds sharing these things with Minhee- what bothers him, really, is how Minhee seems to genuinely want to know more about him. He pushes past Jungmo’s reflexive quips. It’s unsettling. </p>
<p>“Wonjin and Hyeongjun are my best friends.” Jungmo says. “Wonjin’s been my roommate for two years now.” </p>
<p>“Is that how you met?” </p>
<p>“Yeah.” Jungmo says.</p>
<p>“How’d you meet the other one?”</p>
<p>“Oh man,” Jungmo remembers. “He was Wonjin’s high school friend.”</p>
<p>“I see.” Minhee says, and looks at him.</p>
<p>Jungmo knows a few things about himself, and one thing is that he’s not fantastic at holding a conversation. A lot of the time he feels a general apathy towards the person he’s talking to, or the conversation topic as a whole. </p>
<p>He’s not always great at reading nonverbal cues. He’s even worse at it when he’s nervous.<br/>
It took him a while to understand Wonjin’s particular brand of nonverbal communication. It took much, <i>much</i> longer to understand Hyeongjun’s. He’s barely scratched the surface of Minhee’s. </p>
<p>Jungmo knows, though, that Minhee is looking at him like he <i>expects</i> something. Minhee does this a lot. Jungmo usually ignores it- if only because he doesn’t know what Minhee is expecting.</p>
<p>“How’d you meet Seongmin?” Jungmo asks, wishing so badly that he had a script. </p>
<p>Jungmo isn’t really expecting Minhee to <i>smile</i>- not a small one, either. It’s a grin, one that reaches his eyes and makes them sparkle. Minhee pulls his knees up to his chest and <i>smiles</i>.</p>
<p>“There we go,” Minhee says, lips curving around the words. “A back-and-forth exchange.”</p>
<p>Jungmo has nothing to say. Minhee smiles, Jungmo smiles, life goes on.</p>
<p>“We met in high school.” Minhee says, after a moment. “We had one class together and we just… clicked, I guess.”</p>
<p>“He’s the guy in the photo on your wall?”</p>
<p>Minhee looks at him sharply.</p>
<p>“You noticed that?”</p>
<p>“Your room isn’t exactly busy.” Jungmo laughs awkwardly. He hopes he hasn’t given himself away. He feels like he has hoped that a thousand times, now.</p>
<p>God, he should’ve known so much <i>earlier</i>. There is no apathy to be found, not when Minhee is here. It is all emotion. </p>
<p>“I guess not.” Minhee cracks a smile again. “Yeah, that’s us.”</p>
<p>“Do you want the first hit?” Jungmo asks. </p>
<p>“Nah.” Minhee says. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and Jungmo knows he’s going to say something else. “It’s your reward for asking <i>me</i> a question.”</p>
<p>“I’m not a dog.” Jungmo tries to grumble, but he knows he’s smiling.</p>
<p>He takes the first hit, too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo is eighteen when he meets Wonjin. </p>
<p>It’s his second year at university and his roommate assignment is different from last year. Jungmo wouldn’t mind, really, because he never got close with his first one. He wouldn’t mind if the email hadn’t detailed that his roommate was a <i>freshman</i>.</p>
<p>However, the email hadn’t detailed that this particular freshman was going to change Jungmo’s life. The email hadn’t explained that Wonjin was magnetic.</p>
<p>Wonjin has already unpacked when Jungmo lugs his suitcase over the threshold. He’s sprawled over his bed in these ridiculously oversized jeans, his bangs falling over his eyes, and Jungmo finds him incredibly endearing. </p>
<p>Of course, this means Jungmo avoids him. </p>
<p>He remembers Wonjin offering to help him carry a precarious stack of boxes- Jungmo had rejected. He had ended up dropping them. Wonjin had wordlessly picked up the papers that had flown out, smiling at him when he handed them back.</p>
<p>Oh, Jungmo remembers- he remembers provoking Wonjin in the hopes of finding some flaw, some reason to dislike him. He remembers staying up until three am, typing purposefully loud on his computer, and Wonjin just turning over in his bed and asking:</p>
<p>“Is there something you want to talk about, Jungmo?”</p>
<p>Oh, Jungmo had liked him.</p>
<p>Jungmo thinks it might’ve taken him a year to get over his feelings for Wonjin, to settle into their current friend group with no leftover ache.</p>
<p>He’s always fallen hard and fast- always realized it too late.  </p>
<p>Jungmo wonders how long it’ll take him to get over <i>this</i> one, this summer. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Minhee smokes silently- every time he opens his mouth to exhale, his teeth peek out from under his upper lip. </p>
<p>He slouches quite a bit, even when he’s sitting down. If Jungmo was that tall he'd straighten his back and try to take up every inch. Minhee, though, often seems like he’s trying to shrink himself. Sometimes it goes away when he’s high- sometimes he stretches his limbs out, leans back. Most of the time he doesn’t. </p>
<p>Right now he’s still curled into himself, knees up his chest. He doesn’t look uncomfortable- just smaller. </p>
<p>“Any music you want me to play?”</p>
<p>Minhee chokes on smoke.</p>
<p>“Sorry, Minhee.” Jungmo says quickly. “Sorry, I should’ve waited to ask.”</p>
<p>Jungmo’s done it a few times- forgotten that he’s smoking while rushing to answer a question. It’s very unpleasant. </p>
<p>Minhee coughs more, his face turning pink</p>
<p>“I’ll get you some water.” Jungmo decides, and pulls his heavy body into the bathroom. He has a cup in there, thank goodness. He fills it with tap water and rushes back into the bedroom, spilling half of it on his shirt in the process. </p>
<p>Minhee is still coughing, small chokes that make the younger put his head in his hands to signal defeat. </p>
<p>“Here you go,” Jungmo says, handing him the glass and trying not to laugh. He sits back down on the floor and watches Minhee gulp down water and attempt to catch his breath.</p>
<p>“Jeez,” Minhee wheezes after a few moments, his chest rising and falling. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” Jungmo asks.</p>
<p>“Stop laughing at me.” Minhee wheezes. </p>
<p>“I’m not!” Jungmo raises his hands in defense. “Just smiling, just smiling.”</p>
<p>“Stop smiling at me.” Minhee says, but he rolls his eyes. Minhee’s way of softening a blow. “God, that was a <i>hit</i>.”</p>
<p>“Are you okay, though?” Jungmo asks again, and he can’t stop smiling. He’ll blame the weed if he has to. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Minhee says. “Yeah, I am.” </p>
<p>“Don’t try to talk while you’re smoking.” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>“Wow…” Minhee says, drawing out the word sarcastically. “Thank you for the advice, Jungmo.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome, Minhee.” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>He looks at Minhee-  Minhee looks back, looks into him. He has caught his breath, now. Only his cheeks are tinged with pink. </p>
<p>Jungmo is not high enough. </p>
<p>“Pass me the bong.” he says, and it comes out shaky. He wants to curse out loud. </p>
<p><i>Fuck,</i> he wants to say.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Minhee says, voice quiet. </p>
<p>Minhee’s eyes are dark, now that the sun isn’t streaming through the window. Jungmo likes him- likes how he never knows what’s coming next with him, likes his strange quiets and his unexplainable anger. </p>
<p>Minhee hasn’t picked up the bong. It’s sitting next to his right hand- his fingers, splayed out on the wooden floor, are almost touching it. He needs to clip his nails, Jungmo thinks. </p>
<p><i>I want to touch his hand,</i> Jungmo would write, and then delete it immediately.</p>
<p>“Pass me the bong,” Jungmo says again, “if you don’t mind.” </p>
<p>Minhee doesn’t move.</p>
<p>“Jungmo,” Minhee says, and his gaze moves to the floor, to some spot in between them.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>It seems to go like this- one moment Jungmo is fine, can forget his unfortunate feelings. The next moment he feels tense, unsettled, like he’s done something wrong. Like he should be <i>running</i>. Minhee is drumming his fingers on the floor. It makes a hollow noise.</p>
<p>There’s something in Minhee’s eyes- Jungmo doesn’t know it’s name, but it’s something.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” Jungmo asks. </p>
<p>Minhee’s fingers stop drumming. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” he says, and picks up the bong. “Here you go.”  </p>
<p>Jungmo takes it from him, but he’s distracted now. It’s just- Minhee isn’t smiling at all. His expression is blank, and he’s not really looking at Jungmo when he passes the bong over. </p>
<p>“You can-” Jungmo starts. He can imagine Hyeongjun laughing at his sad attempt to communicate like a normal person. “You can always talk to me, if you want. If something is wrong.”</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Minhee says, but he’s still not looking at Jungmo. “I said that already.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Jungmo says, feeling useless. “Alright. Sorry.”</p>
<p>He empties out the ash amidst a silence that doesn’t feel awkward, but does feel <i>tense</i>- he feels like Minhee is going to say something at any moment. The younger keeps looking at him- just briefly, but he tilts his whole head up when he does it. It’s an obvious motion that Jungmo catches in his peripheral vision while he packs the bowl.</p>
<p>He’s not sure what he did to make Minhee upset, or if it was even him at all- but he feels a desperate need to make it <i>better</i>. He doesn’t have a clue what that would entail, but he thinks he’d do almost anything to make the atmosphere lighter. Minhee would just have to ask.</p>
<p>He does what he knows how to do- he packs a bowl, full to the brim. He holds it out to Minhee and hopes that it’s a decent peace offering. </p>
<p>“Oh.” Minhee says. He plucks the bong out of Jungmo’s hands, and he smiles. It’s a little one, just a flutter of his mouth, but Jungmo wants to sigh out loud in relief.</p>
<p>God, he wishes he knew what to say. </p>
<p>He doesn’t, though, so he watches the lighter illuminate Minhee’s face for the thousandth time. </p>
<p>He wants to commit it to memory. Maybe he’ll write a story in two years- maybe it’ll be the best story he’ll ever write.</p>
<p>He thinks it will be. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Minhee says later, when the room is spinning. </p>
<p>Jungmo tries to refocus his vision but Minhee remains a blur. </p>
<p>“For what?” he asks. </p>
<p>The sun has set. Jungmo feels warm. </p>
<p>Minhee laughs softly. </p>
<p>“For earlier, Jungmo.” he says, and Jungmo likes it <i>so much</i>. The sound of his name- even though it’s tinged with annoyance. </p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Jungmo says reflexively. “I don’t remember, though.”</p>
<p>“Wow.” Minhee says. “Nevermind, then.”</p>
<p>“I’m really high.” Jungmo says, hoping it’ll explain why he doesn’t understand what Minhee is trying to say.</p>
<p>“Okay.” Minhee says. </p>
<p>The posts of Jungmo’s bed sway under an invisible wind. He, too, drifts- over the houses and people, over the city. He imagines himself landing next to Minhee, light as a feather. He imagines leaning closer to him and absorbing some of his warmth.</p>
<p>Jungmo blinks a couple times, trying to clear his vision again. It works a little bit. </p>
<p>“Are you staring at me?” he asks Minhee. </p>
<p>He hears Minhee exhale. </p>
<p>“Yeah.” Minhee says. </p>
<p>Any quip Jungmo was going to make in response dies on his tongue. There are no words- just a new heat in his body, a burning. Another need to <i>run</i>.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>Minhee comes into focus all at once. He doesn’t look like he’s joking- he’s not smiling. Nothing about his lips betrays muffled laughter.</p>
<p>“Okay, then.” Jungmo says.</p>
<p>His chest hurts, again. It hurts like his heart is collapsing. </p>
<p>“Is that alright?” Minhee asks, and tilts his head. He does not look away.</p>
<p><i>Oh,</i> Jungmo thinks, his heart heavy in his chest. <i>This is fatal.</i> </p>
<p>“Sure,” Jungmo breathes.  </p>
<p>Minhee looks at him. </p>
<p>There is nothing for Jungmo to do but to sit, pinned like an insect under Minhee’s unreadable gaze. Jungmo wants to know- he wants to know why, he wants to know if he’s <i>losing it</i>, but he can’t speak. </p>
<p>“Thanks.” Minhee says finally, voice soft and floating. When he looks away, when he grabs the bong, Jungmo doesn’t feel free.</p>
<p>“No problem.” Jungmo chokes out, and when Minhee passes him the bong it’s with a small smile. </p>
<p>Jungmo screws his eyes shut when he takes a hit. Behind his closed eyelids it’s dark, for a moment- a reprieve. </p>
<p>He opens his eyes when he exhales the smoke. </p>
<p>Minhee isn’t looking at him, thank god. He’s looking past him, out the window, maybe. </p>
<p>Jungmo takes another hit. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey Jungmo,” Minhee says in a pause between songs. “It’s one in the morning.” </p>
<p>“Shit,” Jungmo says, sitting straight up. “Your parents-”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Minhee says, waving his hand. “They know where I am.”</p>
<p>Jungmo wants to scream. He stops the music on his phone.</p>
<p>“You should go home,” he says. </p>
<p>Minhee looks at him. </p>
<p>“I’m not a kid,” he says. </p>
<p>Jungmo might scream. </p>
<p>“That’s not the point at <i>all</i>.” he says, because it’s not. </p>
<p>“You’re sending me home to my parents because it’s late.” Minhee says, and crosses his arms over his chest. It’s an obvious gesture. Jungmo doesn’t have to be well versed in social cues to understand it. </p>
<p>“I’m not.” Jungmo says, because he’s <i>not</i>. “You’re projecting.” </p>
<p>Minhee opens his mouth- and closes it. </p>
<p>“Wow,” he says. “Okay.” </p>
<p>Jungmo wants to apologize. </p>
<p>Jungmo needs Minhee to leave, though. He needs to sleep for hours- he needs to rest, he needs to recover. He can’t imagine resting with Minhee sleeping anywhere near him. </p>
<p>He fears he’ll give himself away if he’s near Minhee any longer. He fears he’ll smile for too long, he fears he’ll mumble his fondness aloud in his sleep.</p>
<p>“Fine,” Minhee says when Jungmo doesn’t say anything. “I mean, that’s fine.” </p>
<p>He pushes himself to his feet in a whirlwind, and Jungmo thinks he’s going to leave without saying another word. Jungmo’s chest aches.</p>
<p>Minhee pauses in the doorway, though- he fixes Jungmo with a look. His face is impassive.</p>
<p>“I’ll see you again?” he asks, and raises his eyebrows just a little. </p>
<p>“Yes,” Jungmo says. He’s relieved that Minhee doesn’t seem pissed- he’s relieved that Minhee wants to see him again before the end of summer. “Of course.” </p>
<p>Minhee nods, then, and the lines of his face soften. </p>
<p>“Sleep well, then.” </p>
<p>“You too, Minhee.”</p>
<p>Minhee’s footsteps on the stairs echo through the house. Jungmo hears him close the front door behind himself, too. </p>
<p>He should get up and lock it. </p>
<p>He doesn’t- he climbs into bed instead, he pulls the covers over his head. He screams into his pillow.</p>
<p>“I should talk to someone,” he says, also into his pillow, and then promptly falls asleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the wait! :(</p>
<p>The chapter summary is an excerpt from "portrait of fryderyk in shifting light" by Richard Siken. It came up on my twitter timeline and I was like "Well. Maybe I should finish that fic chapter."</p>
<p>I hope this one is alright. It feels busy, to me, and I'm sorry about that. I have this story in my head that I really want to portray 1000% but writing it is harder than thinking about it LMAO :( </p>
<p>Also- thank you for the comments! I have no clue how to respond but I appreciate them so much and it means a lot to me that people are getting something out of my little project here. It'll have, at most, three more chapters. </p>
<p>Thank you again for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Bathtub</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning: discussions of alcohol use and misuse.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The morning sky is gray- rare for an August, but Jungmo doesn’t mind. At least he feels less raw, less exposed. The sun, sometimes, feels like a spotlight. </p><p>His phone reads 9:13 am.   </p><p>Minhee hasn’t texted him. Not that he needed to. </p><p>Jungmo opens his bedroom window to let cool air into the house. The weather is strange. It’s more like spring than anything, like the clouds are going to burst into rain at any moment. </p><p>It’s funny, really. He feels the fog in his mind, too, even though he’s sober. It’s sadness and worry and longing and it makes it hard to create a solid thought.</p><p>Jungmo sits at his desk and looks at the clouds.</p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p><b>Jungmo:</b> I messed up<br/>
<b>Jungmo:</b> I need advice </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>At the end of the day, there’s always summer homework. </p><p>Jungmo opens his laptop and writes an essay outline on <i>The Effects of the Reconstructionist Era on Minority Populations</i>. It’s unbearably dull but he doesn’t know what else to do. </p><p>Smoking weed alone doesn’t sound incredibly appealing right now. Which is strange- because that’s <i>always</i> appealing.</p><p>The clouds haven’t burnt away yet. He’s surprised by that- usually any fog in the summer dissipates in the heat. Even though he doesn’t mind the clouds he notices that he’s in a mood.</p><p>He wishes it would just break- just rain, already.  </p><p>He finishes about half of the essay before the mood settles heavily over him and he doesn’t have the energy to write nonsense anymore. He closes the tab on his computer and decides to find other things to fill his time with.</p><p> </p><p>He draws himself a scalding hot bath and puts his body in it gratefully. The heat rushes his system with an almighty jolt- he closes his eyes for a second and wills his body to adjust. </p><p>The mirrors are steamed over, thank god, so there is just the eggshell white bathtub and the water stained bathroom tiles and silence.</p><p>Jungmo does not feel ill. He feels soft, like a lobster without a shell- a fleshy body, exposed to the elements. </p><p>He feels… lonely. </p><p>That’s a relatively new one, the loneliness. </p><p>Jungmo used to crave time to himself. He used to cherish time to put more smoke into his body without prying eyes. He used to hide from his family, from his high school friends, from Wonjin and Hyeongjun- craving a space where there was no one to judge him.</p><p>Now his chest hurts, a little bit.</p><p>He gets the call while he’s scrolling through Instagram, not absorbing anything on the screen. The water is lukewarm, now. He feels like he’s floating. </p><p>He answers it with a grimace. </p><p>“You didn’t have to call me.” </p><p>“Well, obviously I did.” Hyeongjun says. “You texted <i>me</i> for advice.” </p><p>“Don’t undersell yourself.”</p><p>There’s a pause. </p><p>“What the hell is wrong, Jungmo?” Hyeongjun says. “You sound bad.”</p><p>“Because I’m complimenting you?”</p><p>“<i>Yes,</i>” Hyeongjun laughs. “Now spit it out.” </p><p>“Did I ever mention Minhee?” Jungmo says. He thinks that's a good place to start- Minhee, through the kitchen window. Minhee, sitting on the front porch, watching. Always golden in the sun.</p><p>Hyeongjun doesn’t respond. He breathes- Jungmo can hear it. </p><p>The water around him in the bath sloshes. </p><p>“Maybe,” Hyeongjun says. “Um, remind me?”</p><p>“My smoke buddy.” Jungmo says.</p><p>Now that Minhee’s on his mind- he won’t leave. Jungmo closes his eyes and sees Minhee, and his room with the bed and the single chair. Behind his eyelids he is there, sitting on a navy bedspread and smiling just a little, just the corners of his mouth. </p><p>Jungmo uses his foot to open up the bathtub drain. The water escapes with a steady gurgling. </p><p>“Your smoke buddy slash neighbor?” Hyeongjun says. “The one you like?”</p><p>“What?” Jungmo starts. </p><p>“That’s what Wonjin said.” Hyeongjun says, “Don’t jump down my throat.”</p><p>“What did Wonjin say?” Jungmo says. The water in the tub is getting low, now, and he’s cold. </p><p>“That you think your smoke buddy is cool.” Hyeongjun says. </p><p>“Oh.” Jungmo says, and he feels dumb. He feels dumb for many reasons. </p><p>“Take a deep breath, Jungmo.”</p><p>“Don’t be condescending, Hyeongjun.”</p><p>“Jungmo.” Hyeongjun says, and his tone is firm. He gets angry at Jungmo much faster than Wonjin does. Jungmo had forgotten. </p><p>“I’m sorry.” Jungmo says. </p><p>“What happened with your friend?” Hyeongjun says. “Did you flip out on him?”</p><p>“I’m not crazy.”</p><p>“That’s not what I said.” Hyeongjun replies. He’s always been fiercely protective. Fiercely defensive, too. “Stop beating around the bush. How’d you mess up?”</p><p>“Well,” Jungmo says. </p><p>Minhee sits in the corner of his mind. </p><p>Jungmo is sitting in the empty porcelain shell of the bathtub- he is shaking.</p><p>“I have this massive fucking crush on him.” he says into the phone. </p><p>Hyeongjun doesn’t make a sound, for a moment. </p><p>“How does that qualify as messing up?” Hyeongjun’s voice says in Jungmo’s bathroom. </p><p>Jungmo breathes. </p><p>“Please.” Jungmo says.</p><p>“No,” Hyeongjun’s voice crackles over the phone, now. There’s an edge to it. “Tell me.”</p><p>Jungmo sits in the bathtub with his hair plastered to his forehead and imagines Minhee’s frown if he learned how Jungmo felt. If he knew that every time they hung out, Jungmo found him beautiful. </p><p>Jungmo is shaking more, now. He turns the tap on just a little- enough to slowly warm him, not enough to drown out the conversation he’s having. </p><p>“Because he didn’t agree to it.” Jungmo says. “I feel- I feel gross about it, you know? Like he didn’t ask for me to feel this way. He just wants to hang out with a guy who gives him weed.” </p><p>“Has he told you this?”</p><p>“That’s not the point.”</p><p>“Can you read Minhee’s mind, Jungmo?”</p><p>“That’s not the point!” Jungmo says loudly. </p><p>“I think it is,” Hyeongjun says. </p><p>Jungmo sort of wants to throw his phone across the room. Hyeongjun clearly doesn’t understand. </p><p>“Minhee is my friend.” Jungmo explains slowly. “I am attracted to him. That’s not part of the friendship thing, Hyeongjun.”</p><p>Those words rattle through his skeleton. The bath is refilling, now, thank god. He feels cold even in the warm water. </p><p>“Okay, sure.” Hyeongjun says, and Jungmo is glad he gets it. “But you didn’t do anything <i>wrong</i> by developing feelings.” </p><p>“I don’t know, Hyeongjun.” Jungmo says. “I feel like I did. Like, I met his mom. And he probably trusts me. And I’m over here just looking at him. And just thinking-”</p><p>He can’t finish that sentence. His body is becoming warmer.  </p><p>Hyeongjun sighs. </p><p>“Jungmo,” he says. “You make me sad.” </p><p> </p><p>Jungmo’s chest hurts.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Jungmo says, because he is. He doesn’t mean to burden everyone he gets close to. “I’m sorry. I can talk to someone else.”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant,” Hyeongjun says, “and no you can’t, don’t lie to me. You wouldn’t talk to Wonjin about this.”</p><p>“I’m sorry I make you sad.” Jungmo says. It’s true. He wouldn’t talk to Wonjin about this. </p><p>“Don’t apologize.” </p><p>“Okay.” Jungmo says. “Okay.”</p><p>“What makes me sad is how hard you are on yourself.” Hyeongjun says. </p><p>The tub is close to overflowing. Jungmo leans over and turns off the tap. </p><p>“Oh.” Jungmo says. </p><p>“Are you taking a bath, Jungmo?” Hyeongjun laughs suddenly.</p><p>“Maybe,” Jungmo says, and can’t help smile despite himself. “I was stressed, okay?”</p><p>“Stressed because you consciously think a guy is pretty for, what, the third time in your life?”</p><p>“I mean-”</p><p>“I even got the number right. Wow, I’m a genius.”</p><p>“Hyeongjun-”</p><p>“And this is all osmosis, you do <i>not</i> willingly tell me things about yourself-”</p><p>“Hyeongjun.” Jungmo says, and hopes he sounds tired.</p><p>“Sorry.” Hyeongjun says. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Jungmo thinks about Minhee. He wonders if Minhee will re-bleach his hair, or if he’s going to let the natural dark color grow out. </p><p>“How much do you like Minhee?” Hyeongjun asks. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Am I not allowed to be curious?” Hyeongjun asks. </p><p>Jungmo thinks about Minhee watching him sleep on the lawn at the beginning of summer. </p><p>“A lot.” Jungmo says. “Too fucking much.” </p><p>“And what, is he painfully straight?” </p><p>“I-” Jungmo starts and stops. He doesn’t know. “Aren’t most people?” </p><p>“I mean, like, he’s never talked to you about girls?”</p><p>Jungmo thinks.</p><p>“We don’t really talk about those sorts of things.” </p><p>“What <i>do</i> you talk about?”</p><p>Jungmo looks at the tiles on the wall. He thinks that someone should clean them- they’re yellowing, noticeably older than anything else in the house. His parents must not use this bathroom. It’s like a time capsule, then- a shrine to his childhood.</p><p>“I don’t know. Nothing, at first.” Jungmo says. “I’m bad at talking to people. He asks me things and I respond.”</p><p>“Sounds about right.” </p><p>Something in Jungmo collapses, at that. </p><p>It’s true that he’s short-tempered and somewhat anti-social, at his core. It’s true that he lashes out at Wonjin and Hyeongjun and Minhee now, too. It’s true, but he doesn’t want it. He didn’t <i>ask</i> for it, for a temper that thrashes around in his chest and leaves him gasping for relief. He didn’t ask to fall for Minhee, either- and Minhee didn’t ask for the lethal combination of Jungmo’s temper and Jungmo’s fear, all joined into one barbed weapon. Minhee didn't ask to be randomly rejected with no proper explanation ever to be offered. </p><p>“I don’t want this, Hyeongjun.” Jungmo says, desperate. “Should I leave? Should I go to Wonjin’s and just hang out with you guys for like, these last ten days? I don’t want to mess up with this guy more than I already have.” </p><p>“Jungmo,” Hyeongjun says slowly.</p><p>Jungmo takes a deep breath. He can hear the <i>calm down, Jungmo,</i> in Hyeongjun’s voice. He’s learned that tone- it’s been used a million times.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you so scared?” Hyeongjun asks.</p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>Jungmo used to have nightmares. </p><p>They were on a variety of topics, always horrifying and intense and interrupting his sleep. </p><p>When he’s seventeen there’s a recurring one, though, and the memory sticks with him. </p><p>It starts like this: </p><p>Jungmo is swimming in the ocean. The weather is fine- he thinks it’s beautiful, actually. He has that exact thought. </p><p><i>The sun is so bright</i> he thinks, <i>and the water is so refreshing.</i> </p><p>It ends like this:</p><p>The elements turn on him suddenly. He is not on top of the ocean but inside of it, washing along the belly of some great beast that has swallowed all of the sea water and Jungmo, too. </p><p>It is too dark. Jungmo cannot move. He cannot wake up. </p><p>He is drowning- there is salt in his nose and in his mouth and he tries to exhale but the water comes in, instead, scrubbing his throat raw, cleaning his stomach. </p><p>He is dying when he wakes up- he is clean, too. </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>Hyeongjun is waiting for him to respond. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Jungmo says. “I think I’m scared of everything.” </p><p>“Why did you call me, Jungmo?” Hyeongjun asks. “Did you want me to give you tips on how to get over your crush? Did you want me to tell you that you’re gross and wrong for liking this guy?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Jungmo says. “I really don’t fucking know.” </p><p>There is a silence. Jungmo thinks Hyeongjun is going to hang up on him. </p><p>“Okay.” Hyeongjun says finally. “Okay, I’m sorry. I can imagine you’re freaking out right now.” </p><p>Jungmo smiles. </p><p>“I might be.”</p><p>“It’s okay that you like this guy.” Hyeongjun says. </p><p>“I-,” Jungmo starts.</p><p>“It’s okay that you like Minhee,” Hyeongjun interrupts, and Jungmo jolts at the name out loud. The water in the tub ripples. “You’re not doing anything wrong and you need to stop beating yourself up.” </p><p>Jungmo sighs. </p><p>“You weren’t doing anything wrong when you liked Wonjin, either.” Hyeongjun says. “None of this has ever been wrong of you.” </p><p>Jungmo can push through the shock because he’s tired, he thinks. If he wasn’t- if he didn’t feel <i>drained</i>, he would yell. </p><p>“Okay.” he says instead. “But what am I supposed to do about it?”</p><p>“I dunno. Ask him on a date.”</p><p>“What?” Jungmo says, “Absolutely not.”</p><p>“If you were just any dude asking me for advice about a guy you like, that’s what I’d say. I’d tell you to test the waters to figure out if he’s gay and then work from there. But you’re an angsty guy, right? You don’t work like that.” </p><p>“I didn’t ask to be like this, Hyeongjun.” Jungmo says, feeling defensive. Hyeongjun brings it out in him the best. </p><p>“You could always try other things.” Hyeongjun says. “You know, other than curling up into a ball and avoiding your emotions. It’s definitely the easiest option, but it’s not the only choice. You always <i>could</i> do something batshit insane. Like, technically you could ask a confirmed straight boy out. You could propose.”</p><p>“What the hell are you talking about.” Jungmo says. He’s trying to be stern. It doesn’t really work. </p><p>“I mean, you don’t have to do something insane, either. You could ask him if he’s ever liked a guy. Hell, you could even ask him if he’s ever had a girlfriend and see what he says.”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Jungmo says, and splashes the hand that’s not holding his phone into the tub. “I don’t know.” </p><p>“It’s okay,” Hyeongjun says. “They’re just ideas.”</p><p>It’s silent for a long time. Jungmo would think Hyeongjun had hung up but he hears him, here and there- humming under his breath, typing on a computer, covering the receiver with his hand to yell at someone who is probably Wonjin. </p><p>Jungmo thinks. </p><p>The Minhee in his brain makes no reaction, anymore. He sits still on his bed, in his corner, and looks at Jungmo like he’s analyzing him. </p><p>Jungmo thinks- he thinks about holding Minhee’s hand. </p><p>It makes him shake,</p><p>He thinks about holding Minhee’s hand, about going to the movies with him, about putting his arm around Minhee’s shoulders and Minhee leaning in, comfortable. </p><p>Jungmo might be out of his body. </p><p>He might be floating on the bathroom ceiling, looking down at his own shaking figure in the bathtub. He might be. </p><p>“Take a deep breath.” Hyeongjun’s voice says. “I’m sorry if I stressed you out.” </p><p>Jungmo takes a deep breath. </p><p>He’s afraid of how much he wants it. </p><p>“I know I sound like I’m freaking out.” Jungmo says into the phone. “And I kind of am. But I’m going to be okay, I just want to smoke weed.”</p><p>“Are you hanging up, then?” Hyeongjun sounds amused.</p><p>“Yeah,” Jungmo says. “Thanks for listening to me get angry, Hyeongjun.”</p><p>“It’s no problem, Jungmo.”</p><p>Jungmo hangs up and gets out of the bath. He wants to smoke- he wants to wipe it all out of his head, he thinks. </p><p>There’s this other part of him, wailing and crying, that wants to hold on to this mental image of <i>dating</i> Minhee. It fills him with <i>warmth</i></p><p>Jungmo feels fear like a physical weight.  He wraps his body in a towel and heads back into the bedroom. </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>If Jungmo wasn’t- if he wasn’t <i>himself</i> about alcohol, that’s what he’d want right now. </p><p>That’s a lie. He wants it. </p><p>No matter how horrible the aftereffects of a blackout, at least he’d forget. No matter how many days he’d continue to get drunk, he wouldn’t be thinking about <i>this</i>.  </p><p>The weed doesn’t do much for the mental image. It embellishes it, softens the edges and makes the whole thing shiny and reasonable. In his head he runs his fingers over the outline of Minhee’s hands.</p><p>He wishes he could drink. He watches Wonjin sip on a beer, sometimes, and remembers the burn and the warmth and the overwhelming <i>rightness</i> of finally getting tipsy. He wishes he could drink- he lays in bed and looks up at the yellowed ceiling. </p><p>He won’t drink. </p><p>Right now that feels like an unfortunate truth, but it’s something he’s drilled into himself for moments like these. </p><p>Jungmo pulls the blankets over his head. It’s too early to fall asleep, but.</p><p>Jungmo didn’t start writing on paper. That’s never where it begins- it begins with his eyes closed, in the moments between responsibilities. That’s how stories bloom into life. Jungmo closes his eyes and thinks. </p><p>Stories of love, when he was younger- stories of escape as he got older, of running away and never speaking to anyone he knew ever again. And this was the bed where it started. This was the pillow, too firm. </p><p>He has a story, now. It’s Minhee as someone who loves him and it worms through his body like a flu.</p><p>He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted something so much. </p><p> </p><p>☼</p><p> </p><p>He wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing. He knows in his bones that it’s Minhee. </p><p>There’s no logic to it, no science. But he knows. </p><p>He turns over in his bed and supposes he wasn’t ever going to stay away. </p><p>The wood floor is cold on his feet in the morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I really wanted this part to be in the fic so I apologize for the not-much happening. </p><p>Thank you for reading! The comments honestly are so incredibly kind and I'm so grateful people read and like... actually like what I'm writing!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Dawn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>We were in the gold room where everyone<br/>finally gets what they want, so I said What do you<br/>want, sweetheart?</p>
</div>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning: mentions of alcohol use/misuse</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>Minhee:</b> come on an errand with me? we’ll take a car </p>
<p><b>Jungmo:</b> lol who’s driving</p>
<p><b>Minhee:</b> me… asshole</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Minhee driving is a sight to behold- one that makes him seem much more adult. </p>
<p>“When’d you get your license?” Jungmo asks, tearing his eyes away from Minhee’s two-handed grip on the steering wheel.</p>
<p>“When I turned sixteen.” Minhee says. “As soon as I could.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Jungmo says. He feels a little dumb. He’s never really… considered getting his license. He never had the motivation.</p>
<p>“When did you get yours?” Minhee asks. </p>
<p>“I didn’t.” Jungmo says, and Minhee looks away from the road for a moment to fix Jungmo with an unreadable look. Jungmo feels stupid. </p>
<p>“Look at the road.” Jungmo says, and Minhee does. </p>
<p>“You should get your license.” Minhee says, and turns on his blinker. The sound is soft. </p>
<p>“I know.” Jungmo says.</p>
<p>“I’m not trying to be mean, or anything,” Minhee continues. </p>
<p>“Oh, good.” Jungmo grumbles. </p>
<p>“Let me finish.” Minhee says, and smiles a little. “I think it would be good for you to be able to get away.” </p>
<p>Jungmo has no words for that. </p>
<p>It’s true. Minhee knows him. </p>
<p>“Where are we going?” Jungmo asks after a moment, looking away from Minhee. Looking at the houses that aren’t his and Minhee’s, looking at the stoplights and the sidewalks and the gas station that his mother likes the best.</p>
<p>Minhee’s car- or maybe this is his parents’ car- is a little dirty. The window is smudged.</p>
<p>“The pharmacy. Why did you just get in the car with me?” </p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Jungmo says. “I guess I trust you.” </p>
<p>“Fatal mistake,” Minhee chuckles. His expression settles into amusement, after a moment. </p>
<p>Jungmo always has to look away. Minhee driving a car, Minhee smiling, it’s all the same.</p>
<p>“What do you need at the pharmacy?” he asks, eyes on the road in front of them. </p>
<p>“Hair dye. Who’s asking questions now?” </p>
<p>“Me.” Jungmo says. “Me, I guess.” </p>
<p>“Yeah.” Minhee says. His voice is quieter now. Jungmo looks at the other cars on the street. </p>
<p>He doesn’t much like going out into town. It’s always too bright, too populated. He’s gone out twice this summer- once to get supplies to clean his bong, once because he was craving pizza. He always takes an Uber and tries to talk to no one. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, he’d do anything for Minhee. </p>
<p>“Thank you for coming with me,” Minhee says. </p>
<p>“Stop thanking me,” Jungmo says. “Why do you always thank me?” </p>
<p>“Because I’m thankful.” Minhee says. “I don’t have an ulterior motive.” </p>
<p>Jungmo looks back at him. </p>
<p>It’s always the same. Minhee is a beautiful man, and Jungmo isn’t <i>just</i> weak- Jungmo likes him, specifically. </p>
<p>He’s looking at the road, his eyebrows furrowed. He’s concentrating, maybe. Jungmo can never tell. </p>
<p>“Fine.” Jungmo says. “You’re welcome.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The pharmacy is too cold.</p>
<p>He’s been here before, but it feels like a lifetime ago. They have a freezer full of different flavored ice pops- that was Jungmo’s favorite part of the pharmacy. He remembers it like a dream, just like the rest of his life. </p>
<p>Minhee walks in like he’s been here a million times, past the half-asleep security guard and the display of lip balms. It’s very strange. Jungmo hadn’t remembered which side of the building the entrance was on. </p>
<p>Minhee is wearing a black shirt today. It hangs off his frame- the air conditioning has made the top of his arms break out into goosebumps. </p>
<p>Jungmo clenches his hands into fists.</p>
<p>“It’s this way, Jungmo.” Minhee says, and Jungmo follows him through the aisles. </p>
<p>In the back, where the actual pharmacy counter is, there’s a chair meant for a kid. It’s small and decorated in a palm tree pattern. The plastic that covers it is peeling and brown around the edges.</p>
<p>Jungmo’s sat in it, before. He remembers that plastic digging into his back as his mother, standing over him, talked to someone about something. </p>
<p>Nothing more. </p>
<p>That’s how it goes, when he’s out in town- flashes of childhood exist in everything around him. It’s rarely enough for a full memory. </p>
<p>“You okay, Jungmo?” Minhee says. “We’re just getting one thing, I keep losing you.” </p>
<p>“Sorry,” Jungmo says. “Sorry, lead the way.” </p>
<p>They head to the toiletry section and Minhee pauses in front of a wall of hair dye boxes. It’s all various shades of brown and red and blonde, with a narrow selection of actual color. Jungmo’s college town has many more options- he remembers Wonjin showing him a display of rainbow colors, bright and pastel. </p>
<p>Minhee is still looking at the dye. His brow is furrowed and his arms are crossed over his chest. Jungmo doesn’t think it’s that hard to choose between shades of brown and blonde, but he won’t say it. </p>
<p>The pharmacy does not feel like a safe place to speak. The lights are harsh and bright and Jungmo feels like he’s being examined- but not in the way Minhee does it. This place, with its strangers and its vague childhood memories, is intrusive. </p>
<p>Jungmo picks at his cuticles and waits for Minhee to choose a shade. </p>
<p>“This probably seems dumb, that I’m taking so long.” Minhee says quietly. “Sorry.”</p>
<p>“It doesn’t seem dumb.” Jungmo says, also quietly. “Take your time.”</p>
<p>Minhee smiles a little.</p>
<p>“That’s good to hear, I guess.” he says, and grabs a box of black hair dye from the display. “Let’s get snacks, too, and then go.”</p>
<p>“Snacks?”</p>
<p>“For when we get high at your house after this.” Minhee says.</p>
<p>“Oh, of course. Something I totally invited you over to do.” </p>
<p>Minhee smiles wider.</p>
<p>“Are you telling me I can’t come over?” </p>
<p>He really is so beautiful. His hair is getting so long, now- stray strands tickle his jaw. He’ll look good with black hair.</p>
<p>He’s always a sight, anyways. When Minhee goes to college he’ll be able to get anyone he wants. Jungmo can see it now- Minhee, holding hands with a girl who makes him smile, who helps him stand tall.</p>
<p>Jungmo’s glad he’s had any time at all with him. He’s glad Minhee doesn’t know how much <i>better</i> he deserves- from friends, from anyone.  </p>
<p>“You can come over,” Jungmo sighs. “Just pay for the snacks.”</p>
<p>There’s nothing he can do. It’s been set in motion since the beginning- Jungmo has never been able to refuse Minhee. Not really. Push him away temporarily, sure, but Minhee almost always gets what he wants from Jungmo. </p>
<p>And it’s not like Jungmo doesn’t want to give it to him. </p>
<p>“I was going to pay anyways,” Minhee says. “Asshole.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “Feel free to say no to this,” Minhee starts. </p>
<p>They’re driving home- every time Minhee makes a sharp turn, the chip bags in the back seat slide to one side with a crunch. </p>
<p>“That’s promising.” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>They arrive at a stop sign. Minhee looks at him, for a moment, and then back at the road. </p>
<p>“I said you could say no.” Minhee says, and hits the gas.</p>
<p>“What is it, then?” Jungmo asks. </p>
<p>“Can I use your bathtub?”</p>
<p>“My <i>bathtub</i>?” Jungmo says, and it comes out as incredulous as he feels.</p>
<p>“And your bathroom, I guess.” </p>
<p>“And this is for?”</p>
<p>“For dying my hair.” Minhee says. “Duh.”</p>
<p>Jungmo sighs. </p>
<p>“Will it stain stuff?”</p>
<p>“Probably,” Minhee says. </p>
<p>Jungmo laughs at that, and it shakes his whole body in a way that surprises him. It’s something about the way Minhee has no expression- the way he’s completely honest, no trepidation in his voice. Just telling Jungmo he’s going to stain his bathroom. </p>
<p>“So I’ll get black dye all over my stuff?” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Minhee says. “My parents don’t want me to dye my hair at home because of that but, like, I really want to re-do my hair.”</p>
<p>Jungmo looks at him- like always, he looks at him. </p>
<p>“Sure.” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>Minhee smiles. </p>
<p>“Thanks.” he says, not looking away from the road. “You’re my favorite.”</p>
<p>Jungmo’s heart leaps in his chest. </p>
<p><i>I’ve fallen,</i> he imagines writing. <i>Who’s going to catch me?</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It takes Jungmo a bit of time to unlock the front door. </p>
<p>“At least you locked it this time,” Minhee says, smiling.</p>
<p>“Buzz off,” Jungmo grunts, wrestling with the house keys and the doorknob. “This is exactly why I don’t lock it.”</p>
<p>The front door finally opens. Jungmo stumbles a little over the threshold. </p>
<p>“Smooth.” Minhee says. </p>
<p>Jungmo looks at him- maybe to scowl, or something. </p>
<p>Minhee’s smiling. </p>
<p>Jungmo doesn’t know why he keeps agreeing to this. It’s like self-flagellation. Each smile is a lash from a unique whip, one barbed with confusing words and pretty smiles and prettier laughter.</p>
<p>Minhee puts the plastic bag from the pharmacy on the floor so that he can bend down and untie his shoes. His body is long. </p>
<p>Jungmo <i>wants</i> him. </p>
<p>Minhee stands back up, stretches his arms out in front of himself.</p>
<p>Jungmo just wants him.</p>
<p>“Let’s go upstairs,” he says, and his voice comes out hoarse. </p>
<p>“After you,” Minhee says, and smiles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo’s bad habit might be weed, he realizes, when they get to his bedroom and he makes a beeline for the dresser drawer. He’s lucky he bought so much fucking weed for the summer. He doesn’t know what his plan was for avoiding his parents catching on to his <i>thing</i>- spending a lot of time in the park, maybe. Who knows. </p>
<p>He’s aware that Minhee’s sat on the floor, taking snacks out of the white plastic pharmacy bag. He’s trying not to watch from his peripheral. </p>
<p>“Don’t get too high,” Minhee says. “I’m going to need your help.” </p>
<p>Jungmo twists the grinder. </p>
<p>“For what, exactly?” </p>
<p>“Dying my hair.” Minhee says. </p>
<p>Jungmo stops twisting the grinder. </p>
<p>“Um, your hair is pretty short.” </p>
<p>“And?” Minhee says. His tone has so quickly turned into a challenge.</p>
<p>Jungmo exhales.</p>
<p>“You can’t do it yourself?” </p>
<p>Jungmo doesn’t want to look away from the spread he has on the top of the dresser. His little bag of weed nugs, the empty bong, the purple grinder, a Mickey Mouse lighter, decal peeling from age. He wishes Minhee didn’t keep putting him in these positions-</p>
<p>Because Jungmo will do almost anything for him, but Minhee keeps trying to make him do the one thing he can’t. He keeps trying to get too <i>close</i>. </p>
<p>Jungmo can’t look at Minhee because he’s ruined it again. He ruined it the minute he started to like Minhee as much as he does. Hyeongjun didn’t get it. </p>
<p>“I can technically do it myself,” Minhee says, slow. “But Seongmin helped me bleach my hair, so.”</p>
<p>Oh. </p>
<p>He twists the grinder again. </p>
<p>Jungmo has no idea how he feels about that. </p>
<p>“And there’s no fumes involved. It made his eyes hurt and everything.” Minhee adds. He’s talking fast, like he’s running out of time. </p>
<p>“I’ve never done it before.” Jungmo says.</p>
<p>“It’s not hard.”  </p>
<p>Jungmo opens the grinder and starts packing a bowl. </p>
<p>“Fine.” Jungmo says. “Jeez, fine.” </p>
<p>“Don’t get mad,” Minhee says. </p>
<p>The buzz under Jungmo’s skin flares, dies. </p>
<p>Maybe Jungmo would just do <i>anything.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He would.</p>
<p>Minhee moves them into the bathroom after one bowl of weed and gives Jungmo these big plastic gloves that come with the box of dye. He mixes creams and liquids together in a little tray while Jungmo tries to look everywhere but at their reflections in the mirror- he fails miserably. </p>
<p>Minhee’s reflection is concentrating on his work. Jungmo’s looks stupefied- eyes wide, mouth slightly open. He looks at himself in the mirror and closes his mouth. </p>
<p>This bathroom is much smaller than his bedroom. Even if Jungmo is keeping his distance, he can’t be very far away from Minhee. </p>
<p>It’s like that now. Jungmo sits down on the lip of the bathtub while Minhee works on the bathroom counter. They are only a few feet away from each other. </p>
<p>Jungmo wants to run. </p>
<p>Jungmo wants- </p>
<p>“Alright,” Minhee says. “How should we do this?” </p>
<p>Jungmo laughs once. </p>
<p>“I have no idea.” he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound hysterical. </p>
<p>He feels hysterical- Minhee’s looking at him through the mirror with an unreadable expression. </p>
<p>Nothing new.</p>
<p>“I’ll sit there.” Minhee says, and points to where Jungmo is sitting. “And you can just follow my instructions.” </p>
<p>“I’m going to mess up your hair.” Jungmo says, one last try. </p>
<p>“That would be <i>really</i> difficult.” Minhee laughs. “I promise, you’ll be fine.” </p>
<p>“You promise,” Jungmo says, and stands up from where he was sitting on the tub. </p>
<p>“I do.” Minhee says.</p>
<p>They shuffle around each other in the bathroom. Minhee sits on the edge of the tub after a moment and Jungmo stands there, huge gloves on his hands, not sure what to do. </p>
<p>Knowing he’s going to <i>touch</i>. </p>
<p>“The dye is on the counter,” Minhee says. His voice echoes against the tile, making it louder than usual. He’s facing the wall, socked feet placed into the empty bathtub. He’s wearing purple socks today- Jungmo hadn’t noticed earlier. He notices now. He notices the way Minhee’s hands are clenched around the lip of the tub, knuckles white.</p>
<p>Jungmo’s head is swimming. Minhee said there was no fumes with this dye but Jungmo’s head is <i>swimming.</i></p>
<p>He processes the instructions he’s been given at some point and picks up the plastic tray. It’s covered in gray slime. </p>
<p>“You have all your friends do this?” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>“Not all of them,” Minhee says, and Jungmo is glad he can’t see his face. He has no idea what Minhee means by that- by most things, really. </p>
<p>“Okay.” Jungmo says slowly. “How do I do this?”</p>
<p>“Dip your hands in it and like, get it everywhere.” Minhee says, reaching up and exaggerating the part in his hair. “Do this area first and then you’ll figure it out.”</p>
<p>“Just-” Jungmo looks at the tray of goo. “Stick my hand in the goo?”</p>
<p>“Just stick your hand in the goo, Jungmo.” Minhee laughs. </p>
<p>Jungmo does. </p>
<p>“It’s so cold,” he complains, and Minhee laughs more. </p>
<p>Jungmo is so preoccupied he almost misses the way his stomach flutters. Almost.</p>
<p>“Don’t be a baby,” Minhee says. “C’mon. Dye my hair.”</p>
<p>Jungmo wishes he could approach Minhee and stand behind him without feeling like <i>this</i>. This, which is a combination of warm on the outside and cold on the inside. His stomach, which is a few inches away from Minhee’s shoulders, <i>burns</i> with acid and fear. </p>
<p>And something else. </p>
<p>It doesn’t matter. He can push it all aside for a few moments. He has to.  </p>
<p>Jungmo dabs the dye onto Minhee’s hair.</p>
<p>“Shit,” Minhee says. “That’s cold.” </p>
<p>“Like I said,” Jungmo says, and decides to use both of his hands to smear the dye on the blonde parts of Minhee’s hair. After a while- it’s not hard. He’s still wary, though. He’ll be fine smearing the dye over the first layer of Minhee’s hair, but to get to the rest of it he’ll have to get his fingers <i>into</i> the layers of Minhee’s hair, and that feels too rough. Too close, too personal. </p>
<p>Jungmo smooths the dye down the back of his head, too and he hears Minhee take a breath. </p>
<p>Jungmo’s stomach burns. It’s not <i>inside</i>- it’s a burn on his skin, instead. It’s all in his proximity to Minhee. </p>
<p>“I’m not going to break,” Minhee whispers.</p>
<p>“You’re not?” Jungmo whispers back. </p>
<p>The bathroom is small, and Jungmo is endlessly glad he can’t see Minhee’s face. </p>
<p>“I’m not.” Minhee says- quietly, again.</p>
<p>“Why are we whispering?” Jungmo asks. </p>
<p>Minhee doesn’t answer. </p>
<p>Jungmo dips his gloved hands back into the dye and resolves himself to just- get it over with. To run the dye through his hair as fast as possible. </p>
<p>“I’m just going to-” Jungmo says, before shutting his mouth and threading his hands through the darkened clumps of Minhee’s hair.</p>
<p>“There you go,” Minhee says. “You got it.”</p>
<p>Jungmo thinks Minhee might be smiling- there’s a lilt to his tone. He’s feeling warmer, now. It’s the heat that originates in his belly. He shakes his head and continues to rub the dye between the layers of Minhee’s hair. He’s almost done- the gel spreads around easily.</p>
<p>He’s not completely disconnected from his body. Usually he would be, with as fast as his heart is beating. He supposes there’s a part of him that wants to experience this. </p>
<p>He thinks he should be the one thanking Minhee. </p>
<p>There is nothing to write. He feels warm, too warm. </p>
<p>And then there’s the realization that he can’t see all of the hair in the front of Minhee’s head from this angle. </p>
<p>Minhee will have to turn around.</p>
<p>Jungmo takes a deep, deep breath. He wills himself to be normal, for just <i>one second</i>. </p>
<p>“Turn around, will you?” he says, voice impressively casual. </p>
<p>“Yes sir,” Minhee quips, and Jungmo moves backwards so that Minhee has space to move. </p>
<p>Minhee does- his hair is flat on his scalp and gooey looking, honestly. Jungmo suppresses a laugh.</p>
<p>He can’t hide his smile, though.</p>
<p>“You did this.” Minhee scowls. “Laugh at yourself.”</p>
<p>There are some dry strands of hair hanging around Minhee’s face, and Jungmo sets his sights on them. He pointedly avoids looking at Minhee’s eyes as he steps forward, back into Minhee’s space. </p>
<p>“Stay still,” Jungmo says, and reaches out. He works the dye through one still-blonde section of Minhee’s hair, rubbing it between his fingers so that the dye gets every strand it possibly can. He does the same to the thin hair growing on Minhee’s sideburns, and the strands that hang over his forehead. When they’re nice and covered he takes the clumps of dyed hair and adds it to the dark mass on Minhee’s head. </p>
<p>“Hey,” Minhee says, “Look at me.”  </p>
<p>Jungmo exhales. </p>
<p>“I’m almost done,” he says, and surveys the top of Minhee’s head. </p>
<p>“Okay,” Minhee says. “Then look at me.” </p>
<p>“I am.” Jungmo says. There’s a small patch of blonde on the top of Minhee’s head so he takes another dollop of dye and smooths it over the light color. </p>
<p>He doesn’t have time for this, he doesn’t have the energy- he has big fucking gloves on and he’s trying his best to do what Minhee wants him to do. He can’t <i>look at him.</i> Not now.</p>
<p>“My eyes are right here.” Minhee says, and he sounds like he’s complaining.</p>
<p>Minhee’s eyes, which are brown in the sun and darker other times, which look at Jungmo with such… <i>something.</i> Eyes that Jungmo thinks about constantly, the way Minhee closes them when he laughs really hard, the way he opens them wider when he’s listening.</p>
<p>So when Jungmo looks, it’s only because he wants to.  </p>
<p>“Hello,” Minhee says, and Jungmo images that word shakes the floor with its noise. </p>
<p>Jungmo has to look down, of course, to make eye contact with Minhee. In this position, with Minhee sitting in front of him, his head reaches the height of Jungmo’s ribs. His head isn’t tilted up very much so Jungmo isn’t sure, but- </p>
<p>Minhee is looking at him. Jugmo already knows when he drags his gaze down from Minhee’s hair, down his forehead, over his defined eyebrows.</p>
<p>When he looks into Minhee’s eyes, finally, Minhee is already looking at him. His head isn’t tilted up very much, his body is still sitting still, but his gaze is on Jungmo’s face and Jungmo knows his cheeks are probably flushing red, his eyes are probably widening. </p>
<p>Minhee’s eyes give away nothing. They rarely do. </p>
<p>“Happy?” Jungmo asks, but it comes out too quietly. He means to look away- he does, actually. He looks at the wall behind the bathtub for about three seconds. </p>
<p>
  <i>One, two, three.</i>
</p>
<p>He inhales deeply. </p>
<p>When he looks back, Minhee is still looking at him. </p>
<p>Jungmo can see all of his eyelashes- he can see red under Minhee’s eyes. From here, from this close, he can see the ring of black around the dark brown of his irises.</p>
<p>“I’m happy,” Minhee breathes. </p>
<p>There are no cliches for this- no pools to fall into. </p>
<p>Jungmo’s heart beats erratically in his chest and he- </p>
<p><i>Wants.</i> </p>
<p>Yearns, in a physical way- deep in his chest, in his stomach. There is no air in his lungs.</p>
<p>He blinks and Minhee isn’t looking into his eyes, anymore. He’s looking somewhere a little lower. </p>
<p>“I finished your hair,” Jungmo says, and steps backwards until his back hits the sink counter. </p>
<p>He takes a deep breath. Cool air fills his lungs, uncontaminated. </p>
<p>He feels clean. </p>
<p><i>I almost lost myself, </i> Jungmo writes in his head. His handwriting is unlike his own- rounded, cursive. <i>I’m losing myself.</i></p>
<p>“Now we wait,” Minhee says, and his voice is flat. His face is flat, too- beautiful, but expressionless. His hair is a mess. </p>
<p>“Should I set a timer?” Jungmo asks, and he marvels at how calm his voice is. He feels like his very organs are shaking, and yet here he is. </p>
<p>“Thirty minutes, please.” Minhee says. </p>
<p>Jungmo’s glad he put his phone in the bedroom- he can escape, now.</p>
<p>The air in the bedroom is cold and refreshing and Jungo wishes Minhee would stop <i>looking</i> at him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He smokes a bowl in the bedroom while Minhee washes his hair in the bathroom. </p>
<p>It’s a special kind of torture.</p>
<p>It’s one thing to have Minhee in his thoughts- which make no mistake, he always is. It’s another thing to actually have him physically tucked away, to have him shut behind a door while Jungmo sits on his bedspread and waits for him to appear from behind the water-warped door. </p>
<p>And he was so close earlier, and Jungmo is trying and failing not to think about it-</p>
<p>The sound of the shower is loud. </p>
<p>Jungmo opens his phone and turns on music.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It feels like a lifetime later when the shower turns off- Jungmo’s deep into a high, now. He places his bong to the side and blinks in an attempt to shake the most overwhelming parts of the weed. </p>
<p>He stands up from his seat on the bed. He paces from side to side, runs his hands through his hair. </p>
<p>He decides to sit cross-legged on the floor. There’s still chip bags, there’s still some vague soda Minhee chose that Jungmo doesn’t recognize. </p>
<p>Jungmo is often lost. He’s often lost, but he’s never this lost. </p>
<p>The bathroom door opens and Jungmo looks up.</p>
<p>“Thanks for everything,” Minhee says. “My self-esteem has been recovered.” </p>
<p>Jungmo almost laughs. He would laugh, if there weren’t so many other things going on. No one talks like Minhee does- like a character from a bad teen show, sometimes. With too much charisma and not enough sentence structure. </p>
<p>Minhee’s hair is still wet, but it’s black now. It looks <i>good</i>. It makes him look pale, it makes the red under his eyes more pronounced. It makes him look- untouchable.</p>
<p>“I’m glad.” Jungmo says. “God, that was so stressful.” </p>
<p>He says it jokingly- he hopes it comes across as banter. It’s just the truth. </p>
<p>“Well, you did a good job.” Minhee smiles. “I think you got it all. We’ll see for sure when it dries.” </p>
<p>He walks over to his usual spot on the floor and sits down like he didn’t just make Jungmo look into his eyes. </p>
<p>Like he didn’t just- </p>
<p>Holy shit, okay. </p>
<p>“You want a bowl?” Jungmo manages.</p>
<p>“Yes, please.” Minhee says. “Thank you.” </p>
<p>Jungmo can do that. He can pack a bowl. </p>
<p>He packs bowls for Wonjin- that’s how they started talking, too. Over illicit pipes and smoke blown out the dorm windows. He packs Hyeongjun’s first bowl- when the kid had begged to get in on the fun for once in his life. </p>
<p>He packs Minhee bigger bowls. It’s dumb- Minhee doesn’t know. Minhee won’t like him more because of it. He does it anyway. </p>
<p>He thinks he has since the beginning. </p>
<p>He hands the bong to Minhee, who takes it with two hands. </p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p><i>He has nothing to thank me for.</i> Jungmo thinks. <i>He wouldn’t thank me if he could read my mind.</i></p>
<p>“Enough with the thanks.” Jungmo says. “Just smoke the weed instead.” </p>
<p>Minhee smiles. </p>
<p>Jungmo thinks it’s for his own good that he’s leaving soon. This thing- this <i>twisting</i> in his chest only grows exponentially. </p>
<p>Minhee’s hair is still wet. There’s a drop of water sliding down the side of his face- over his cheekbone, where his freckles are. Over the curve of his jaw. </p>
<p>Minhee lights the bong.</p>
<p>Jungmo wants to cry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Minhee’s hair dries and it looks wonderful. He looked wonderful blonde, he looks wonderful with black hair. He looks- so good. The long hair around his face makes one lazy loop on the right side and it’s sweet. </p>
<p>His mouth opens- he exhales smoke. </p>
<p>“Tell me about yourself,” Jungmo says.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know if he’s ever said that to someone before.</p>
<p>“Really?” Minhee asks, eyebrows rising. “Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“Give me some credit.” Jungmo says, even though he’s just as surprised as Minhee looks.</p>
<p>“Earn it,” Minhee says. </p>
<p>“I’m trying,” Jungmo says, and waves his hands around to show that he <i>is</i> trying. “Tell me about yourself.”</p>
<p>Minhee shakes his head and smiles as though this whole thing amuses him. </p>
<p>“I’m Minhee. I’m eighteen. I’m going into freshman year of college at-”</p>
<p>“Something I don’t know. What do you like to do?”</p>
<p>“I like movies.” Minhee says. “I like to bake when I’m having emotions.”</p>
<p>He flicks the lighter again.</p>
<p>“The bowl is torched.”</p>
<p>“I’ll repack it.” Jungmo says. “Tell me more.”</p>
<p>“My parents aren’t around that much. Which is fine.” Minhee says. “I bake and watch movies and read sometimes and FaceTime with Seongmin and don’t unpack.” </p>
<p>“Why don’t you unpack?”</p>
<p>“We move a lot.” Minhee laughs, but it’s humorless. “And I’m leaving soon, anyways. Freedom finally. Or whatever.”</p>
<p>“Or whatever?”</p>
<p>“You’re back.” Minhee says.</p>
<p>That stings, a little. But it’s not untrue. </p>
<p>“I am.” Jungmo says. “I guess I am.”</p>
<p>“You like the house, or something?”</p>
<p>“No.” </p>
<p>“Then why’d you come back?”</p>
<p>“I dunno,” Jungmo says, and he feels restless. “My parents were supposed to be here. They, uh, went on vacation instead.”</p>
<p>Minhee looks up sharply. </p>
<p>“They- what? What happened?”</p>
<p>“My parents were supposed to be here but they went to Rome instead.” Jungmo shrugs to show that it doesn’t really matter. “I’ve been smoking weed.”</p>
<p>“That’s fucked up.” Minhee says. “That’s really messed up, what the hell?”</p>
<p>Two curses in one sentence. Minhee looks <i>mad</i>. </p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Jungmo says. “It’s not like I’m the best kid ever.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But you’re not-” Minhee waves one hand in the air. “Deserving of that.”</p>
<p>Jungmo decides to repack the bowl. The conversation is on him again- he feels like it always is. And this one is particularly uncomfortable. He likes the way Wonjin deals with his parents- how he rolls his eyes and doesn’t act like it’s a big deal.</p>
<p>“Tell me more about yourself.” Jungmo says. “Somehow it’s about me again.” </p>
<p>Minhee laughs. The sound is light. </p>
<p>Jungmo begins to pack a new bowl. </p>
<p>“My favorite house had a swimming pool.” Minhee says. “Um, I was on the debate team for a couple of years. My dream job would be to, like- actually, this sounds dumb.”</p>
<p>Jungmo looks up from the bong. Minhee is looking at his hands.</p>
<p>“Go on,” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>“I don’t know. I want to be a therapist.” Minhee says. </p>
<p>“How is that dumb?” Jungmo says, and he means it. “I think that’s-”</p>
<p>He wants to gather his words. He doesn’t do this very often. </p>
<p>“I don’t have that sort of emotional patience. Or like, energy to heal other people. I think it’s a very admirable quality.” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>Minhee looks at him. Jungmo wants to keep repacking the bong, but- some things you can’t look away from. </p>
<p>“Are you being sarcastic?” Minhee’s voice, ever so steely, betrays a sliver of vulnerability. </p>
<p>“No,” Jungmo says. “No. I’m just-” </p>
<p>Fuck, he never gets these things right. He involuntarily scrubs a hand over his eyes. </p>
<p>“I’m sad a lot,” Jungmo says. “And I’m tired a lot. I could never be a therapist.”</p>
<p>Minhee laughs. Jungmo doesn’t think he’s that funny, but Minhee laughs at what he says quite often. Maybe it’s humorless. Maybe Jungmo is blind. </p>
<p>He finishes packing the bowl so that he has a reason not to look.</p>
<p>“Me too, though.” Minhee says. “Yeah. I know what you mean.” </p>
<p>“You’re not quite the same. ” Jungmo says, and hopes it’s not out of line. “Look, you got <i>me</i> to talk. You’re a good listener. You’d be a good therapist.” </p>
<p>“I can’t figure out how you feel about me,” Minhee says. </p>
<p>Minhee is still looking at him- actually, Minhee is examining him. Jungmo will never be able to explain how he knows, but he does. He supposes they’ve spent many hours together, now. He supposes he’s learned a couple of Minhee’s cues. </p>
<p><i>How I feel,</i> Jungmo wants to yell, <i>God, where do I begin?</i></p>
<p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jungmo says. He thinks that’s a safe option.  </p>
<p>“One minute you’re super snappy with me and the next you’re telling me to follow my dreams. I dunno, you eat the cookies I bake for you but then you don’t like to be at my house. Which is fine. I just don’t know what that means.” Minhee says, and then takes a deep breath before continuing. </p>
<p>“Getting information about you usually seems to physically pain you. Um, and then you ask me about myself. Once is a fluke, fine, you just learning to be social-”</p>
<p>Jungmo would interrupt, defend himself, but Minhee is talking fast now. His eyes are wide and bright. </p>
<p>“But you’ve done it more than once, now. Which sort of makes me think you care about me.” Minhee says. “Which, like. Not that it matters. But it just makes me wonder. And then we smoke weed together but sometimes I think that <i>you</i> think I’m a little kid. Or that you keep things from me because I’m young and you’re trying to, like, protect me, in some dumb way. And then on the other hand sometimes it seems like you barely tolerate me. It just makes me wonder.”</p>
<p>Minhee’s gaze is unmoving. Jungmo-</p>
<p>Jungmo didn’t know Minhee <i>wondered</i> about him. </p>
<p>It’s a dizzying realization. It would knock him off his feet if it wasn’t for Minhee’s eyes, which are already so dark- which don’t stray from Jungmo’s face. If it wasn’t for what Minhee was saying. </p>
<p>“I don’t just tolerate you.” Jungmo says. </p>
<p><i>I like you so much,</i> Jungmo wants to say. <i>Probably in a way that’s different from the validation you’re seeking, though. I wish-</i></p>
<p>“Yeah?” Minhee says. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I really don’t.” Jungmo says. “I think you’re really cool.” </p>
<p>
  <i>Beautiful. Smart, lovely. Terrible for me, sometimes.</i>
</p>
<p>“You think I’m <i>cool,</i>” Minhee says, and smiles. This smile <i>is</i> humorless. Maybe Jungmo isn’t so bad at this after all. Well- he still doesn’t know why the smile is so empty.</p>
<p>“I do.” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>The air in the bedroom feels stale, hard to breathe in. </p>
<p>“Jungmo,” Minhee says. </p>
<p>
  <i>Deja Vu.</i>
</p>
<p>The smile is gone. Jungmo watches Minhee place his hands on his knees, palms down. It’s a deliberate movement. </p>
<p>“What is it?” Jungmo says. It’s the air in the room that makes his voice come out so quietly. It’s not the fall of Minhee’s freshly dyed hair, it’s not the paleness of his ankles and calves where he’s rolled up his pants. </p>
<p><i>I can’t even make it sound convincing,</i> he wants to write. <i>How sad.</i> </p>
<p>“Sometimes I think you want to kiss me,” Minhee says. </p>
<p>
  <i>Oh.</i>
</p>
<p>Jungmo’s body flashes cold, like he’s been dropped into the ocean. There’s fear and guilt and the knowledge that Jungmo can’t run from his own room. He wishes to leave his body- he stays stubbornly attached to the floor, to his crossed legs.</p>
<p>He sits still.</p>
<p>Minhee’s looking back at him. </p>
<p>Jungmo should look away. He should laugh, he should say something <i>mean.</i> Anything to put the idea out of the question. </p>
<p>“But that would be crazy,” Minhee says. “Right?” </p>
<p>His heart has dropped into his stomach and his chest is hollow, now. There is only a toothpick rib cage left. He doesn’t have the strength to do anything close to defending himself- instead, he feels like he’s wilting under Minhee’s gaze. Under the knowledge in the room.</p>
<p>He’s never even- he’s never even thought about <i>kissing</i> Minhee. </p>
<p>He wants to, though. Of course he wants to. Now that the idea is in his mind it’ll never escape.</p>
<p>Minhee is still looking at him. </p>
<p>
  <i>He must know, then.</i>
</p>
<p>Minhee is beautiful and Jungmo just feels freezing cold. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jungmo had his first real, memorable experience with alcohol when he was fifteen years old.</p>
<p>His father’s little cabinet is in the dining room. It’s easy to see- it takes years to learn to ignore it. </p>
<p>Jungmo is fifteen years old. He’s getting some water from the kitchen. He still has an essay to write. He’s had a week to do it but he’s put it off, so tonight he’ll be staying up much too late. </p>
<p>He hears his parents talking in the living room and the soft sound of the television.</p>
<p>He doesn’t even make the choice, really. He’s been thinking about it for a while and the opportunity presents itself. </p>
<p>And his father has so <i>many</i> bottles.</p>
<p>There’s a bottle of whiskey clutched in one hand and a glass of water in the other as he makes his way back to his room. </p>
<p>His mother’s laughter echoes up the stairs.</p>
<p>He gets too drunk too fast- he passes out before he finishes his essay. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Minhee is always looking at him. Now is no different- that hasn’t changed now that he’s dropped <i>this</i> bomb. </p>
<p>“It’s not crazy.” Jungmo says. He doesn’t know how the words come out of him. “But you already knew that, right?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t know if he’s being played with. He thinks he might be- no, he doesn’t know anything. That’s the only truth. </p>
<p>Minhee’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. </p>
<p>“I didn’t know,” Minhee says. He speaks like the air is affecting him too- shallow, like he isn’t getting enough oxygen. “I mean, not for sure.”</p>
<p>The window is wide open. Jungmo made sure it was when Minhee was taking a shower. </p>
<p>Jungmo figures he should freak out or yell. Tell Minhee to leave, at least, and then get high out of his mind. </p>
<p>He’s trying to find the energy.</p>
<p>As it is, Minhee is still looking at him. He feels pinned- he feels like an insect. He doesn’t think he’ll ever speak to Minhee again, after this. </p>
<p>“I’d let you kiss me.” Minhee says.</p>
<p>“Don’t be an asshole.” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>“I’m being serious.” Minhee says, and his expression is- earnest. Wide eyes and squared shoulders. </p>
<p>Jungmo doesn’t know if it’s real.</p>
<p>He thinks he might be truly, finally upset in Minhee’s presence. Jungmo’s embarrassed enough as it is- he doesn’t need further humiliation. </p>
<p>“You’re being a dick,” Jungmo says, and pushes himself to his feet. </p>
<p>He’s not surprised when Minhee does the same. Maybe he’ll leave, then.</p>
<p>Maybe this can all be over.</p>
<p>Jungmo’s heart <i>hurts</i> in his chest. He <i>hurts</i> in his skin, he wants to curl up under his covers and sleep. He wants Wonjin and Hyeongjun to take him away from here. God, he should’ve known. </p>
<p><i>It was worth something, in the end,</i> he’ll write one day, but that’ll be a long time from now.</p>
<p>“I’m not being a dick.” Minhee says. His tone is calm, next to Jungmo’s. “I would.”</p>
<p>“You would <i>what</i>.” Jungmo spits.</p>
<p>“Kiss you,” Minhee says. “Why are you so mad?” </p>
<p>Jungmo scoffs aloud. </p>
<p>Some of Minhee’s hair is falling over one side of his face. Not enough to obscure his eyes but- just enough. It’s the same color as his shirt- his shirt, which is too big. Like all of his shirts.</p>
<p>Jungmo’s rage softens. </p>
<p>“Because I feel bad,” he says. “I’m embarrassed.” </p>
<p>“Oh my god,” Minhee says, sort of loudly, and Jungmo shrinks. He wants to be <i>gone</i>. “I have to do literally <i>everything</i>, huh?” </p>
<p>Minhee walks up to Jungmo until they are as close as they were when Jungmo was dying his hair. This time, Minhee is not sitting down. </p>
<p>This time- </p>
<p>Jungmo feels like he’s floating. He can feel Minhee’s breath on his face. There are his freckles, there is the strong bridge of his nose and the texture of his skin. There are his eyelashes, again- Jungmo’s been so close, today. </p>
<p>He wills himself not to shake.</p>
<p>“Can I kiss you, Jungmo?” Minhee asks- softly, like a secret. </p>
<p>
  <i>What.</i>
</p>
<p>He can hear his blood rushing in his ears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Jungmo says somehow. </p>
<p>Somehow- </p>
<p>Minhee’s hand finds Jungmo’s shoulder. Minhee comes even closer- Jungmo just looks at his eyes, and that‘s all he can do until Minhee is<i>too</i> close and Jungmo closes his eyes and-</p>
<p>Minhee’s lips are warm. Soft, warm. Minhee’s grip tightens on Jungmo’s shoulder. </p>
<p>Jungmo’s imagination is <i>nothing</i>. </p>
<p>No kiss has ever mattered, Jungmo thinks. Because this isn’t even much- this is a touch of lips, and Jungmo feels a faint electricity where they touch, where Minhee holds on to his shoulder. He hears Minhee breathe out of his nose softly, <i>softly.</i></p>
<p>Minhee smells like laundry detergent.</p>
<p>Jungmo feels so, so fond.</p>
<p>It’s over before Jungmo’s brain really has the chance to kick into gear. Minhee takes a step back and lets go of his shoulder.</p>
<p>Minhee’s mouth is slightly parted. His eyes are wide- his tongue flicks out, for a moment, to wet his lips.</p>
<p>“You wanted to kiss me too,” Jungmo says. He means it as a question, but it comes out as a statement.</p>
<p>“Well,” Minhee says, and blinks a few times. “Maybe.” </p>
<p>Jungmo feels the place where Minhee’s hand was on his shoulder like a brand- like something’s missing. <i>Maybe.</i></p>
<p>“Maybe?” Jungmo says. </p>
<p>He’s breathing heavily, he realizes. One little kiss and his chest is rising and falling rapidly. </p>
<p>“I did,” Minhee says. “You caught me.” </p>
<p>Minhee’s eyes look a little wild and Jungmo can’t begin to wrap his head around the idea of <i>catching</i> Minhee. That would mean he has secrets. </p>
<p>Jungmo has no idea what to do. He has no idea- he doesn’t really know what’s going on. He’s been kissed by Minhee. He knows that. He doesn’t know what it means. </p>
<p>He can’t assume that it means Minhee likes him. He <i>can’t</i>, because the way Jungmo likes Minhee is ugly and dark, recently. He can’t, because Minhee isn’t like that. Minhee is spontaneous kissing and dying his hair and <i>different.</i></p>
<p>Minhee just thought Jungmo wanted to kiss him- and he wanted to kiss Jungmo, apparently. Maybe this is all shallow. Maybe, maybe, maybe. There’s no way to know.</p>
<p>All Jungmo knows is that his lips are tingling and his mind is empty.</p>
<p>“What happens now?” Jungmo says stupidly. </p>
<p>Minhee smiles a little- just the corners of his mouth.</p>
<p>“We could smoke that bowl, I guess,” he says. </p>
<p>Jungmo smiles too. He can feel it on his face. He hopes it’s not too dumb, not too transparent. Minhee seems fine, after all. He’s standing there and smiling slightly and breathing normally. </p>
<p>Well- he’s standing there and he’s smiling a little and his shirt is much too big and he just <i>said he wanted to kiss Jungmo.</i> And now he wants to smoke weed.</p>
<p>Jungmo could use the high right now. </p>
<p>“Sure,” he says. “That’s a good idea.” </p>
<p>He thinks he might be dreaming, actually, but for now he’ll take the high.</p>
<p>He thinks he shouldn’t sit down first- Minhee <i>has</i> kissed him. </p>
<p>Does that mean something? Does this mean something? </p>
<p>Jungmo wants to speak- well, he wants to know. He doesn’t want to speak. If he speaks- if he speaks, the next words will be:</p>
<p>
  <i>I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, and that just made it so much worse.</i>
</p>
<p>And perhaps a kiss can just be a kiss. </p>
<p>Jungmo sits down on the floor and Minhee follows almost immediately. </p>
<p><i>Dominos.</i> he writes in his head.</p>
<p>“You first,” Jungmo pushes the bong across the floor. It makes a scraping sound. </p>
<p>“If that’s what you want,” Minhee says. He picks it up with the hand that grabbed Jungmo’s shoulder-</p>
<p>He’s never been so aware of his own shoulders. </p>
<p>Minhee lights the bong and smokes, uses the lips that <i>pressed against Jungmo’s-</i></p>
<p>When Minhee hands him the bong there is no expression on his face. </p>
<p>Jungmo will pretend their fingers don’t brush. He will pretend that it wasn’t electric.  </p>
<p>He will not look at Minhee’s mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>☼</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He does not sleep at all.</p>
<p>It’s rare these days, but it happens, and tonight is one of those nights. </p>
<p>He stays awake and finishes his stupid essay and-</p>
<p>Wonders if Minhee likes him. Wonders if Minhee was just curious. </p>
<p>Wonders.</p>
<p>The sun rises gold- beautiful, almost, over the roof shingles and the pockmarked pavement and all the cars, which gleam like beetles.</p>
<p>The clock on his laptop reads 6:03 am and he still doesn’t think he’ll fall asleep in this lifetime. He still feels like he could run a marathon, like he could yell at his father.</p>
<p>He supposes there’s always a Sociology essay to do- and many more essays. He could waste away the next few days with summer homework and the last of his weed. He could finish the summer like this. </p>
<p>God, part of him wants to. It’s a large part- the part that’s <i>confused</i> about why Minhee keeps doing things that make him feel like this. Confused if Minhee knows how he feels about him. </p>
<p>Minhee had left at 11:30 pm. </p>
<p>They had finished the chips and soda. They had talked about the local High School they both attended- they had joked about the extremely old English they knew. They had not talked about the kiss. </p>
<p>Jungmo decides to begin the outline for that Sociology essay at 6:05 am.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>SO! Excited and nervous (mostly nervous) for this to be unleashed. It's been a bit of a monster.  I hope this is semi-sufficient for the time and patience and build up. Thank you for sticking around, reading, and thank you always for the kudos and comments!!!</p>
<p>The summary is an excerpt from "snow and dirty rain," from Richard Siken's book "Crush."</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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